


Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

by AidanChase



Series: Harry Potter: Everyone Lives AU [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2020-05-15 21:03:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 134,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidanChase/pseuds/AidanChase
Summary: Lily stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on Harry's forehead. Whatever challenges they would face in the fight against Voldemort, she knew they would face together, and that gave her all the courage in the world.How different would the world of Harry Potter be if James and Lily lived?This work is marked as Gen; inquire after your ship within. I will share ship endgames on request, now that I know what I'm doing.





	1. The Next Minister

**Author's Note:**

> We're here! I know you want to dig into the meat of the book, so let me hit you with some quick bullet points and links, then let you on your merry way.
> 
> 1\. ~~Updates will be bi-weekly for the time being. These chapters are very long, and while I love fleshing out each of these characters within the AU, words take time. If chapters get shorter, updates will get more frequent. EDIT: I have a full-time job again! While this is great news for my massive amounts of student debt, this is bad news for my creativity. Updates happen as often as I am able between my very busy worklife. Teaching is demanding!~~ EDIT 2: Schools are closed, and so I am working from home and unable to go out with friends. We're on weekly updates now. I hope this fic brings you some small enjoyment during this highly stressful and uncertain time.
> 
> 2\. Follow the twitter for updates! [HPEveryoneLives Twitter](http://twitter.com/hpeveryonelives) is a great place to catch me tweeting silly posts and the occasional teaser about upcoming chapters. It's also where you're going to want to look if an update is late (or early!).
> 
> 3\. Follow the tumblr for updates! [HPEveryoneLives Tumblr](http://hpeveryonelives.tumblr.com) is still a WIP; I had to delete my personal tumblr, and I'm slowly rebuilding the AU here. It's a lot of copying, pasting, and data-entry so it's taking some time, but I do post silly HP memes there as well, and will update if chapters are late or early.
> 
> 4\. Help put together the Wiki! Magic713 has begun building an incredible project, [here on fandom wikia](https://harrypottereveryonelivesau.fandom.com/wiki/Harry_Potter_Everyone_Lives_AU_Wiki) and even I am trying to contribute when I can.
> 
> 5\. Magic 713 has also helped put together a discord! You can find that [here](https://discord.gg/g9Fnx8S), and chat about the AU, the wiki, and Wizard's Unite! The discord has been inactive for six months, but I'd like to get it up and running again, now that I'm up and writing again.
> 
> 6\. Speaking of Wizard's Unite, my friend code is 2426 2333 7063 if you would like to add me!
> 
> 7\. Final note: Special thank you to my betas, ageofzero and Magic713. I'm so grateful for their help with this project, and to my best friend duneekah, who still listens to my incessant ramblings about this series.
> 
> 8\. And thank you for being here! I can't believe we have come so far. I honestly couldn't have done it without all of your encouragement. I have loved each and every one of your comments on this series, so thank you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cedric Diggory made a hard decision at the end of Order of the Phoenix. It's time for him to deal with that.

Cedric Diggory had a lot to learn and not a lot of time to learn it.

He’d often imagined his first day of work at the Ministry of Magic, but the real thing turned out to be vastly different. He did go to the Ministry with his father, as he’d always thought he would, but he’d always imagined he would spend his first day meeting everyone in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, specifically the Beasts division, discussing field research, and reading the latest reports on new discoveries of beasts. The office he’d imagined was the office he’d visited so many times with his father, full of passionate and adventurous people with a thirst for knowledge about the natural world.

The office Cedric ended up in was not that office.

Instead of stopping at the fourth floor, Cedric waved goodbye to his grim-faced father — Amos and Fiona were still coming to terms with Cedric’s decision to abandon his research career — and continued on to the second floor: The Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Everyone on this floor looked as grave as his father. People bustled down hallways with urgency, and when they conferred over desks, they spoke in low tones and hurried whispers. There was none of the shouting and loud laughter Cedric had seen when he’d visited his father’s office as young boy. No one smiled at him as he headed down the hall for the Auror Department. Instead, they hurried quickly, and gave him little more than a glance as they passed him.

The Auror Department was no less busy than the hallways. Cedric could see the rows of desks that filled the office workspace and three offices against the back wall, clearly labeled with gold lettering. The Muggle Liaison office was dimly lit, and had no windows looking in, so Cedric could not be sure if anyone was on duty. Next to it was the office of the Head of the Auror Department, Rufus Scrimgeour. Through the frosted glass, Cedric could see the shape of someone moving around the desk, but it was impossible to know who it was or what they were doing. Finally, the office of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was completely black and undisturbed. That seemed odd to Cedric, that the head of the entire department could be absent when the Ministry was in a crisis as serious as the return of Voldemort. The rest of the office was full of people, wanted posters, and flashing alerts as sightings, both real and imagined, of Death Eaters were called in. Among the Aurors hurrying about the desks, Cedric recognized Fabian and Gideon Prewett, but they were deep in conversation and did not notice him. 

Tonks was there too, seated at one of the desks and staring vacantly at a piece of parchment in her hand. Her hair was mousy brown today, and her face was unusually striking, with high cheekbones and a sharp nose, almost like Sirius and Regulus Black. He knew she did not like the Black side of her family, so he could not imagine she intentionally tried to look like them. Usually, her face was softer, and her eyes more prominent. It struck him that her appearance had always been a conscious choice, and he guessed by the distant look in her eyes this was what she looked like when she was not trying.

“Can I help you?”

Cedric turned, and was startled to see a young woman leaning against a desk stacked with paper work. She had a paper in each hand and three paper airplanes hovering above her head. One poked insistently at her cheek, but she did not seem to notice it. A fourth zoomed around the corner and planted itself in her large hair, which framed her face like a halo. Her wide nose and sharp eyes made her look almost like a lioness on the hunt. Cedric tried to be disarming, afraid she might pounce otherwise.

He smiled. “Good morning. I’m looking for Kingsley Shacklebolt?” 

She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

The cold welcome startled Cedric. He wondered where he’d misstepped. “Er — I’m Cedric Diggory? I’m supposed to work under him. He agreed to take me on in the Auror Training Program.”

“Shacklebolt has been reassigned.” Her voice was unsympathetic. She set her papers down and picked up her wand. With it, she summoned a sheet of paper from within one of the stacks on her desk. She scanned it quickly, then set it down. She snatched one of the memos out of the air, read it, then crumpled it and tossed it into a waste basket. When she picked another from over her head and read it, Cedric realized she thought their conversation was over.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” he tried to be as polite as possible, “but I’m not sure what I should do if I’m not working under Kingsley.”

The secretary looked at him as if he were little more than a house-elf asking where to put away linens. 

“Talk to the Chief Captain of the Hit Wizard’s Department. Marcus Charmstone.” She scribbled a note on a piece of parchment, turned it into an airplane, and sent it off down the hallway. “You’ve passed all the qualifications necessary for Aurorship, right?”

“Yes, though my N.E.W.T. results —”

“Excellent.” She had clearly stopped listening after “Yes.” She continued, “Then you’ll be competent enough to be a Hit Wizard. Their training is shorter, less comprehensive. Charmstone always needs more hands on deck.”

This time, she actually looked at Cedric when she spoke, and she seemed to register the disappointment on his face. The hardness in her onyx eyes softened.

“Look — this should all just be temporary. We’re going through a lot of transitions at the office right now, as I’m sure you can imagine with all this You-Know-Who business.” She glanced over to Rufus Scrimgeour’s office, then at the dark windows of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement office. “All it’ll take is another Auror to pick up your training. I’m sure someone will soon. Give it some time.”

Cedric tried to smile. He knew Tonks had already jokingly said she’d take him on when he’d discussed his career path with her. She, however, had only been an Auror for two years, and wasn’t eligible to take on any new recruits. Surely one of the other Aurors in the Order — the Longbottoms or the Prewetts — would volunteer to take him soon.

“Thanks,” he said. “Could I have directions to Chief Captain Charmstone’s office, then?”

At the young woman’s direction, Cedric made his way down the hall and around the corner to the Hit Wizard’s Department. He inquired after the Chief Captain, was directed to a large, dark, bearded man, and had barely introduced himself when a report of giants in West Country came through. As Charmstone barked orders, a dozen Hit Wizards hurried to the Apparition point. When Charmstone asked why Cedric was still standing there, Cedric ran after them. It seemed that his first day on the job had already begun.

Cedric had never fought giants before, but he learned quickly. They couldn’t be stunned; most dueling jinxes bounced right off their thick skin. The task required cooperation with the other Hit Wizards — whose names he didn’t know — and creative combat techniques. That, at least, he had some idea of how to handle, since he’d faced a dragon, grindylows, acromantula, Blast-Ended Skrewts, and several Death Eaters before.

Defeating giants wasn’t the end of the task. Hit Wizards were responsible for helping round up Muggles after a catastrophe and delivering them safely to the Obliviators. Cedric was in the middle of promising a Muggle woman that he could explain everything to her if she would just come down from the tree she’d climbed when another Hit Wizard came up behind him. 

“This is faster,” the young man said, and flicked his wand. The woman gasped loudly as she was hoisted by her ankle into the air then carefully lowered onto the ground. “Come on, miss,” the Hit Wizard said, and helped her to her feet. “You’ll be fit as a Flitterby in a moment.”

Cedric helped support the woman on one side and together, the two carried her to the Obliviators, who saw to it she had no memory of climbing a tree to hide from giants, and instead felt foolish for climbing a tree in a hurricane.

“Is this what the job is?” Cedric asked, and wiped sweat from his brow. He and the Hit Wizard started another walk around the block, looking for any Muggles that might have been missed. “Rounding up Muggles and dueling giants?”

“The giants are new,” the young man said with a laugh. He held his hand out to Cedric. “Welcome aboard. I’m Christian Thelborne.”

Cedric took his hand. “Gryffindor, right?”

Thelborne grinned. “How could you tell?”

“Cedric Diggory. I was a prefect for Hufflepuff. You were Prefect with… Percy Weasley, right? I had only just started my prefect duties when he was made Head Boy.”

“Oh! Yeah, I know Percy. Such a pencil pusher. Worse than my sister.” “

Cedric struggled to remember another Thelborne at Hogwarts. He eventually landed on another Gryffindor Prefect, Anne Thelborne. He hadn’t known her well, but he did recall the two of them working together to stop a duel between Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. Outside of prefect duties, though, they’d hardly spoken. Cedric thought he recalled a second Thelborne girl, but he couldn’t place a name or face among his fellow prefects. 

“And you,” Thelborne said, “you were the Champion in the Triwizard Tournament, right?”

“Yeah — Harry and I both.”

“Is that where you got that scar?” Thelborne pointed at the thick white line that ran along the inside of Cedric’s wand arm, from wrist to elbow.

Cedric shook his sleeve back down to cover the blemish. “No — that was from a Death Eater.”

Thelborne took the guarded tone in Cedric’s voice as a hint and didn’t press any further.

As they completed their circuit, Cedric tried very hard not to think about the night his arm had been sliced open, but of course trying not to think about something was never very effective. It was a fresh memory. The battle in the Department of Mysteries had been only a week ago, and the Death Eater Pyrites had cut Cedric’s arm open in an effort to convince Harry to hand over a prophecy. Cedric remembered the sharp pain as Pyrites’ wand trailed his arm, as if a knife had cut its way into his skin. The pain, though, hadn’t been the worst of it. The worst part had been the Silencing Charm. Cedric had screamed in pain, but no sound had come out. It was an indescribable kind of terror, to try to scream, to pour all your breath and strength into begging for help, but to be met with utter silence. It wasn’t as bad as the Cruciatus Curse, but it was a different sort of fear.

“Thelborne!” Charmstone shouted, as Cedric and Thelborne returned to the Obliviators’ temporary base. 

Cedric tried to look alert and not like he was lost in his own head. He tightened his hand around his wand and felt the strain in his wrist. He coughed, just to remind himself he had a voice.

“New assignment,” Charmstone said to Thelborne. “You’re picking up a Muggle Junior Minister by the name of Herbert Chorley. He’s quacking.”

“What concern of ours is it if some Muggle’s cracked?” Thelborne asked. His deep green eyes seemed so tired.

“Get him to St. Mungo’s and find out. You don’t make the orders, just take them. And take the new kid with you. Show him how to move around Muggles.”

Thelborne made a face at his Chief Captain, then smiled apologetically at Cedric. “Here we go, then.” 

Thelborne held out his hand, and he and Cedric Apparated back to London. 

The moment they appeared in a small alley, Cedric felt the cold, damp fog soak its way through his robes and into his bones. He shivered and rubbed his arms.

“This is unusual July weather.” He tried to breathe warmth into his hands, but his core remained cold, frozen. He wished he could curl up by the fire in the Hufflepuff common room, the way he used to when he had nightmares about dying in a graveyard.

Thelborne frowned and sniffed the air, then wrinkled his nose. “Dementors. They’re breeding.”

Cedric shivered at the thought, then shivered again from the cold. “Finally left Azkaban, have they?”

“I think it was only a matter of time after Regulus Black broke out. Bit of an insult to their pride, I imagine.”

Cedric snorted. “I don’t imagine dementors have much in the way of feelings.”

Thelborne frowned. “Then you’re lucky you’ve never had to speak to one.”

Cedric had exactly one experience with dementors, and that was when one had boarded the Hogwarts Express in search of Regulus Black. It had been Cedric’s first year as a prefect. They’d only just finished up their meeting, and he was ready to take on his new duties. He’d found a carriage of first year students and was answering their questions about Hogwarts, helping to allay some of their worries about a new school so far away from home. All his hard work had been wasted when the train halted suddenly. One of them had started crying before Cedric even felt the cold. 

He’d bravely stood between them and the door, wand ready, as the dark, hooded figure had glided down the corridor. He’d trembled while it passed, but he’d stayed on his feet, even as frost crept over the windows. Then it was gone, and he was left feeling desperately cold inside with five terrified eleven year-olds crying and begging to go home.

Cedric pulled his robes tighter in an effort to stave off the cold and tried to think about anything but talking to that thing that had left so much fear in his heart.

“Where do you think this Junior Minister is?” Cedric asked.

Thelborne shrugged. “Where do you find a quacking Muggle?”

“Where do you find ducks?”

It turned out that the Junior Minister wasn’t hard to find. He was wandering along the nearby bank of the Thames, hands on his hips and elbows flapping as he quacked. The hard part was how they ought to handle the Muggle photographers that had gathered to document this absurd event.

“This is the job,” Thelborne sighed, and ran a hand through his curly blonde hair. As he pushed his bangs back, Cedric was struck by the unusual elfin features in Thelborne’s face. He had high cheekbones, a lengthy jaw line, and a firm but fine nose. It reminded Cedric of a more vibrant version of the Black family.

“How are your Disguise Spells?” Thelborne asked.

Cedric blinked. “I mean, I don’t have a lot —”

“S’alright.” Thelborne tapped his wand on Cedric’s head, then himself. Their wizard robes vanished, replaced by crisp, freshly pressed Muggle suits. Thelborne’s blonde hair and fine features vanished as well. He looked plain, with hair and eyes in identical shades of brown, and a round shape to his face that struck Cedric as entirely forgettable. Cedric wondered what he looked like, but he wasn’t about to ask if Thelborne carried a compact mirror.

Instead, Cedric looked down at his clothes. “Suits?”

“A good, easy Muggle disguise. Indistinct, lends authority, handy to be able to create, or even to keep in your pocket if that’s easier.”

Cedric noted the advice. He was grateful to have been paired up with Thelborne, for however long it lasted. It may not have been the day he was expecting, but he was already learning quite a bit.

Thelborne told the paparazzi that he and Cedric were Chorley’s security and got the Junior Minister away from the river and flashing cameras. When Chorley struggled and tried to break out of their grip, Thelborne promised him they had bread crumbs where they were going, nice tasty bread crumbs, and Chorley settled down for a bit.

Once they were out of view of any Muggles, especially those with cameras, Thelborne and Cedric Apparated to St. Mungo’s. Their disguises vanished as they appeared in the hospital’s waiting room. For a moment, Cedric wondered if it had something to do with the magic of the hospital, but as Thelborne flashed the Hit Wizard emblem on his robe at a young, curly-haired Healer in bright green robes, Cedric thought dropping the disguise might have been intentional.

“Not sure what’s wrong with him,” Thelborne said to the Healer. “He’s a Muggle, though, so —”

The poor young man looked exasperated. “Hit Wizard or not, if none of you are on death’s door, wait in line, please. We’re a bit understaffed right now.”

And he was gone, leaving Thelborne looking miffed at the brusque treatment. It didn’t surprise Cedric, though. He wondered how many patients here were victims of the giant attack just hours ago, and how many more were here because of damage done by the Death Eaters just this week.

Cedric struggled to hold onto Chorley’s arm as he guided him to the line for the Welcome Witch. Chorley was still flapping his arms and quacking.

“Normally they’re a bit quicker to jump to the badge,” Thelborne muttered as he joined Cedric in line. “I guess this week’s been hard everywhere.” His bright green eyes clouded with worry as they drifted over the list of floors in St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. 

“Something wrong?” Cedric asked.

“Just wondering….” Thelborne chewed on the inside of his cheek. Without the friendly smile and jocular attitude he’d had just a half hour ago, he looked almost dangerous. “Amelia Bones is in here somewhere. At least, they say she is. Death Eater attack last week. She’s the head of the whole Law Enforcement Department and they haven’t said they’re replacing her yet, so she must be alright still, but….”

“‘Bones’?” Cedric repeated. The name was familiar. “Does she have a daughter at Hogwarts? Susan?”

“Niece, I think,” Thelborne ran his hands over his face. The danger in his tight jaw seemed to wipe away beneath his fingers, replaced with worry and exhaustion, an expression Cedric was overly familiar with from his stay with the Order last summer, and from his own reflection in his final year at Hogwarts. “And rumor is that Rufus Scrimgeour’s getting moved out of his position, so that’s the Head of the Aurors out. Then Carter and Walsh disappeared last week.”

“Carter and…?”

“Just friends of mine. Other Hit Wizards. Walsh was my Squadron Captain. Carter and I were competing to be the next one to make Auror.” Thelborne’s green eyes were tinted with only a little jealousy as they flicked once over Cedric.

Cedric resisted the urge to defend himself, partially because he wasn’t sure he could, and partially because they’d arrived at the Welcome Witch’s Desk.

While Thelborne explained they’d been given orders to take in the Muggle Junior Minister, she raised an eyebrow at the quacking man. After a brief exchange where she tried to explain they didn’t treat Muggles just because they might be a bit mad and Thelborne tried to explain he had orders to follow and it could always be something worse, the witch directed them to the fourth floor, Clair Kazemi ward. Chorley came along easily now, looking almost giddy as he quacked at Cedric, Thelborne, and the lift doors. They found the Clair Kazemi ward and the Healer on duty, an elderly witch named Guinevere Highwater.

Healer Highwater frowned when Thelborne explained the situation to her. She directed Thelborne and Cedric to get Chorley seated in a nearby chair. Chorley settled into his seat easily and smiled up at Cedric. He opened his mouth, looking for all the world like he had something important to say — then he quacked.

Cedric was beginning to think that this assignment was a waste of time. There were so many other things that demanded attention, like missing Hit Wizards and loose dementors. Seeing to one addled Muggle seemed unnecessary.

Healer Highwater, even, looked rather bored as the tip of her wand lit with a gentle blue glow. But as she pressed the blue light against Chorley’s temple, the quacking stopped, and instead, Chorley lunged at her and wrapped his hands around her throat. 

Thelborne leaped into action, wrapping his arms around Chorley and trying to pull the large man off the Healer. Cedric grabbed at Chorley’s fingers in an attempt to at least loosen Chorley’s grip around Healer Highwater’s neck, but Chorley was surprisingly strong. Cedric and Thelborne combined seemed to have no effect on the man who had been so easy to persuade only moments ago.

Highwater’s face began to turn blue and her eyes rolled into her head. Her wand fell from her fingers and clattered to the floor. In a desperate attempt, Cedric stepped back and shouted, “ _Protego_!”

There was a white flash and a burst of energy. Chorley and Highwater were thrown apart. The air shimmered between them as Cedric maintained the shield to keep them apart. Thelborne, too, did his best to hold Chorley in place, though he seemed to have difficulty keeping Chorley from pushing against the barely visible shield.

“If I were to guess?” Highwater gasped. “Someone attempted an Unforgivable on him, and did a very poor job of it.” Her hands brushed at her collar, checking for breaks in the bone. “I’ll need assistance.”

Cedric and Thelborne spent the rest of the afternoon helping Highwater and the other Healers treat Chorley. He only managed to get his hands on two more Healers, and Cedric and Thelborne were there each time to save them.

It was nearly an hour before Healer Highwater assured them they had Chorley well in hand, and Cedric and Thelborne could return to the Ministry and make their report. There were enough Healers looking after Chorley to keep him restrained and sedated as necessary. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement ought to know someone was cursing people close to the Muggle Prime Minister. 

Both young men nodded; Cedric wiped sweat from his brow and Thelborne from the back of his neck.

As they waited for the lift to take them back into the lobby, Cedric asked, “Which is worse? Quacking Muggles or giants?”

Thelborne considered. “Giants. At least with this guy, we can leave the Healers to Obliviate him and not worry about casualties.”

Cedric mulled over Thelborne’s answer as they stepped into the lift. Cedric would have said this was worse. Giants were already magical, part of their world. It was more terrifying to think that Voldemort could be cursing people within the Muggle government. It made him wonder how many forays Voldemort had made into the Ministry of Magic. Anyone could be Imperiused. Even Thelborne.

That thought wasn’t helpful, though, so Cedric shut it down and Apparated back to the Ministry with Thelborne.

The two immediately briefed Marcus Charmstone on the situation. The Chief Captain listened with a grave expression. When Thelborne had finished explaining, Charmstone shook his head.

“Grave news indeed,” Charmstone said in a low voice. “You’ll need to report this directly to the Minister for Magic.”

“We need to what?” Thelborne raised his eyebrows.

Cedric swallowed down his own protest. He wasn’t particularly fond of Fudge. Their last encounter had been in Dumbledore’s office while the Ministry had nearly expelled him and almost arrested Dumbledore. Fudge had stood behind Umbridge, gleefully swallowing every lie she spouted. Cedric flexed his right hand, where faint white lines marred his skin. They were no longer legible, but he would never forget the punishment Umbridge had inflicted on him just for speaking out about Voldemort’s return.

“I’d do it myself,” Charmstone said, “but I need to settle an argument between the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Both seem to think today’s giant attack falls under the other’s jurisdiction. I need to head down there and make sure they each do all their work.” Charmstone picked up a scroll, rolled so tightly that Cedric estimated it was at least three or four feet of parchment long.

“Right,” Thelborne said, “but can’t —”

As the Chief Captain stood, it was clear there was no room for argument. All three headed for the lift. Charmstone pushed the up button first, and it wasn’t long before the lift dinged.

The moment the golden gates closed behind Thelborne and Cedric and they were out of earshot of their commanding officer, Thelborne whispered, “Have you met Fudge before?”

“A couple times.”

“Is he as big an idiot as everyone says?”

“More or less.”

The lift dinged and the gilded gates slid open once more. At least the lift ride had been short; it was only one floor between Law Enforcement and the Minister for Magic’s office.

The two were met immediately by Percy Weasley, who seemed to have no recollection that the last time he’d seen Cedric Diggory was that very same evening the Ministry had failed to arrest Dumbledore.

His smile was wide, but nervous. His freckled face seemed unusually pale, and there were dark bags under his eyes, magnified by his glasses. 

“Cedric,” he greeted, hand extended for a shake, “Mary.”

Neither Cedric nor Thelborne met his handshake. Thelborne’s face went from warm gold to bright red.

Cedric suddenly remembered the third Thelborne he’d struggled to recall that afternoon. He didn’t think he’d ever met Mary Thelborne, but the name had certainly come up in passing. A Gryffindor prefect, he thought, but not one he’d worked with, not that he could recall.

“If you can’t get it through your thick head to call me Christian,” Thelborne snapped, “then Thelborne will do just fine, thank you.”

Percy, too, flushed, and cleared his throat. “Of course. Er — this way. The Minister is expecting you.”

Cedric wasn’t sure why the Minister was expecting them, unless a note had been sent before they’d even given their report to Charmstone. That meant this meeting was about more than just Herbert Chorley and the Muggle Prime Minister. Cedric wondered if Fudge was going to take away Cedric’s new position as Auror. He wanted to believe even Fudge wouldn’t be that petty, not in the wake of Voldemort’s public return, but his hope was weak. He couldn’t think of any other reason Fudge might be calling them to his office.

Cedric looked to Thelborne for an explanation, but if Thelborne had an answer, Cedric couldn’t read it in his face.

Percy Weasley led them down the hall, around what felt like the entire Ministry of Magic building before the hallway curved back in on itself, leading towards an office in the very center of the building.

The door was made of solid blue lapis lazuli, edged in gold runes, much like the shifting gold runes of the Atrium’s ceiling. Cedric blinked to be certain the runes weren’t moving, but these seemed to remain solid.

Percy knocked on the door twice, then pushed it open. “Minister — Cedric Diggory and Ma — Christian Thelborne have arrived, sir.”

A deep voice, that was definitely not Fudge, said, “Excellent. Come on in, gentlemen.”

Behind the warm, yellow wood desk of the Minister for Magic was seated a tall man with thick, dark, curled hair that stuck out from his head like a lion’s mane. His nose and mouth were both wide, and coupled with his intense gaze, he looked like a lion surveying the savannah for prey, not unlike the Auror secretary Cedric had met that morning.

“Rufus Scrimgeour?” Thelborne breathed.

Scrimgeour did not look up from the parchment he was scribbling on. “Yes. Thelborne, isn’t it?”

“Yessir.”

“I hear you were the one who brought in Herbert Chorley?”

Thelborne hesitated. “Diggory and I both did, sir.”

“Of course.” Still, Scrimgeour did not stop writing. “What is the verdict?”

“An Imperius Curse gone wrong, at least, that’s what Healer Highwater thinks.”

Scrimgeour’s quill paused its scratches for a moment. His lips worked their way around the name Highwater, but he didn’t speak it, not until he’d settled on the right witch. “Guinevere Highwater?”

“I believe so, sir.”

Scrimgeour returned his attention to the parchment. “Then she is probably right. Thank you, gentlemen, for your hard work today.” He signed the parchment with a hurried flourish, folded, and sealed it. He handed the letter to Percy Weasley, who hurried out of the room to see it delivered.

“Now,” Scrimgeour said, “I have important business to discuss with each of you and not a lot of time to discuss it. He glanced at a gilded clock face hanging over one of the many floating bookshelves mounted in the office. “I’m meant to be meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister just now, but I’ve sent Fudge on ahead to prepare him.”

Cedric blinked. “Fudge is still Minister, then?” He hadn’t meant to blurt out, but he’d been so relieved to see Scrimgeour behind the Minister’s desk, someone who knew how to face the Dark Arts, someone who seemed to have the situation so well in hand that it was horrifying to think Fudge was still Minister after all.

“No,” Scrimgeour said quickly. “I am replacing Fudge as the next Minister for Magic. He’ll only stay on in an advisory capacity. There are a lot of changes happening very quickly around here, and we’ll all need to adapt if we are to stay on our feet for this fight. Thelborne, you’re to take on the rank of Captain for your Hit Squadron.”

Thelborne blinked. “But sir — I’ve only been a Hit Wizard for two years. And Walsh —”

“Has been missing for a week now. He is either dead, dark, or on the run. In any event, he can no longer serve. I know your family has served well in the past. I expect you to excel in the position. And perhaps convince your sister to join as well.”

Thelborne’s face worked through a series of emotions — confusion, surprise, fear, anger, and finally acceptance. “I’ll do what I can, sir.”

“And Diggory, I believe you had your sights set on Aurorship.”

Cedric wondered for a moment why the Minister would know that, then remembered that Scrimgeour, as head of the Auror Department, would have had to approve his application in the first place. “Yessir, but Mr. Shacklebolt —”

“Has other duties, yes. We moved him to protect the Muggle Prime Minister, and it seems necessary to keep him there, given what happened with Chorley today.” Scrimgeour scribbled a note on a piece of parchment, signed and sealed it quickly. “Take this to Anne Scrimgeour, my niece. She’s still the secretary in the Auror office, yes? She’ll make sure Williamson takes you on. He’ll be an excellent mentor for you.”

Cedric frowned as he looked down at the sealed letter. He was not so quick to accept this personal attention from Scrimgeour as Thelborne had been. “May I ask why, sir? I’m happy to stay as a Hit Wizard for a few more years. It’s more traditional, isn’t it? And I did good work today, helping with the giants and the Muggle Junior Minister.”

Scrimgeour’s nostrils flared briefly. His eyes glittered like he had found the prey he’d been looking for. Clearly he was not used to having his orders questioned. 

“It’s important to have you in the Auror office,” Scrimgeour said. “You have more experience fighting Death Eaters than many of the Hit Wizards do. You can learn more under Williamson in a week than serving in Thelborne’s Squadron in a month. You’re a valuable part of this fight. Take pride in that.”

Cedric didn’t like the way Scrimgeour said, ‘valuable,’ like he had a price tag attached to him. He wondered how many galleons it read, and if it was more than Thelborne’s. Or maybe the value wasn’t in galleons. It was hard to miss the Daily Prophet headlines about “The Chosen One.”

“Is this about Harry Potter, sir?”

Scrimgeour’s lips pressed into a tight line. “You’re a man of plain words. I can appreciate that. Your connection to Harry Potter, to his two most recent duels against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has not gone unnoticed by the Ministry, nor the public. I’ve just sent a letter to the Potter family requesting Harry’s assistance in this fight as well. Fudge assures me they will stubbornly refuse, but I will do my best to win this fight, and I cannot do it without help. Can I have your help, Mr. Diggory?” He extended the sealed parchment once more.

Cedric wondered what would happen to him if Harry refused, if his connection to Harry proved worthless to the Minister.

Reluctantly, Cedric took the parchment. “I’ll fight in whatever way I am needed.”

Scrimgeour smiled, but it was grim. “Spoken like a true soldier. Now, you both have your assignments, and I have a meeting.”

Cedric and Thelborne each shook Scrimgeour’s hand, and left the Minister’s office.

“Well,” Thelborne said and let out a slow breath, “you sure put your head in the lion’s mouth.”

Cedric shrugged and started down the long, winding hallway. “I don’t like being used or lied to. I just wanted to know why I mattered so much. What about you. What was all that about blood?”

Thelborne’s face twisted like he’d gotten a whiff of a Dungbomb. “My family name is pretty new. We can trace our lineage back just to the early 1800s, which is nothing compared to most of these families, especially not ones like Scrimgeour’s. But there’s a legend — more of a rumor I guess — that there’s elf-blood in our history.”

“Like… house-elf?”

Thelborne shrugged. “Supposedly my great-grandfather could do excellent wandless magic, and was an incredible duelist. Served in the war against Grindelwald, and died fighting Grindelwald, so I guess he wasn’t quite good enough, in the end.”

“Oh. Did he know Dumbledore?”

This time, Thelborne frowned. “Don’t know. Never asked. Anne might know. She cared more about our family history than I ever did. I just liked the dueling part.” He was quiet until they reached the lift, the kind of quiet that Cedric was afraid to interrupt with a question. It felt delicate, and fragile. 

The lift bell broke the silence and the two stepped behind the golden gates. Thelborne leaned against the corner of the lift like he wanted to fall through it. Cedric wasn’t sure why Thelborne looked so upset suddenly, until Thelborne said, “About Weasley — what he called me —”

“You don’t have to explain anything you don’t want to,” Cedric said quickly. He had appreciated Thelborne not pressing him about his scars earlier and wanted Thelborne to have the same opportunity for silence. 

The young man took a moment to consider Cedric’s words. The lift elevator arrived at their destination before he’d decided what to say. The golden gate slid open, but neither of them moved.

After another moment, Thelborne straightened. “Fine. Then I don’t want to explain.”

Cedric nodded, and gestured to let Thelborne out of the lift first. Thelborne headed for the Hit Wizard Department with a wave and a, “See you around. Thanks for the help.” Cedric took a deep breath before starting for the Auror Department. He didn’t know Williamson well, but he thought he remembered Tonks saying something about a duel with Voldemort that had turned Williamson’s hair white. Surely Williamson would be as good a mentor as Kingsley.

“Hey, Diggory!”

Cedric turned around, surprised to see that Christian Thelborne had come back around the corner.

“Neither of us are anyone else’s pawns, right?”

Cedric smiled. It was equal parts full of relief and the warmth of true friendship. He may not know Thelborne well, and he may have a lot more to learn about this job, but today had been a really good start. Regardless of the new Minister of Magic’s plans for the fight against Voldemort, both Thelborne and Cedric had their own challenges to face, and at least now they would be a little less alone in facing them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons are always appreciated!


	2. Steorran Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regulus Black reunites with a well-loved cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day early! Just for you! Happy Fourth of July from your terribly American author. I try very hard for my characters to appear British, but I don't always make it. Anyone out there from the Isles, willing to edit for tone, I'll take it!

Steorran Castle had an unusual lineage, as intricate and corrupt as the Black family tree itself.

The Black family’s countryside estate was large, far larger than their London apartment, and named for the central tower that had served as an observatory millennia ago. The castle had been built to hold the Black extended family, and still resembled the castles of its era, with stone walls that made the place feel more like a fortress than an estate. No one in the family had made any attempt to modernize it — no one except Alphard Black, who was the black sheep of his own generation, much like Sirius and Andromeda had been for their families.

As Regulus walked through the rotted and worn stables, he searched for any sign of the hippogriff he’d been caring for. He’d never confined the hippogriff to these stables — roofs didn’t suit large, winged creatures well — but he’d left the stable doors open in case Buckbeak wanted shelter in poor weather, and outside was certainly poor weather.

The rain came down in sheets, and was icy cold as if it were late November instead of early July. Regulus knew the out of control dementors had managed to create a unique cold in London, but he wondered if this, too, was their handiwork. Maybe they had come for him, the second prisoner to escape their walls. The only one to have escaped who still lived. Maybe the Dark Lord had sent them after him specifically.

Regulus was unsure how much longer he had to live. The Dark Lord would kill him, eventually. He’d known it since he was only eighteen. He’d spent these last sixteen years with the prospect of death perpetually at his door. Really, Regulus was only biding his time, accomplishing what he could before the grains of sand in his hourglass ran out.

It was a risk coming here to check on the hippogriff. It was a risk keeping the hippogriff here at all, but when Regulus had been forced to flee after his narrow escape from Hogwarts, he hadn’t been able to think of anywhere else to go. Grimmauld Place was owned by Sirius, and while the brothers had made a temporary truce, whether or not the property would receive him was questionable. The other option was Steorran Castle, which was the only thing left in Regulus’s name. At least, according to the Ministry, it was his. The magic that controlled Black family inheritance might have disagreed.

At least, in the last few years since his dramatic escape, the castle had not outright tried to murder him. Even after he was living safely at Grimmauld Place, Regulus had continued making frequent trips between Grimmauld Place and Steorran Castle — to check on Buckbeak, he’d said, but his real goal had been searching the family estate for horcruxes. He’d always believed the Dark Lord had trusted Bellatrix with a horcrux. Maybe he hadn’t told her what it was, but she had been so close to him during the first war, it was easy to believe she could have been tasked with protecting something of such high value. What Bellatrix might have done with the horcrux if she had it, Regulus had yet to discover. He’d found dozens of dark objects in both Grimmauld Place and Steorran Castle, but he had not found anything he suspected might be a horcrux.

Regulus stood in the doorway of the stable and surveyed the large, open paddock, currently an enormous puddle of mud. He saw no sign of the hippogriff and grunted in irritation. He liked Buckbeak, and got along well with the proud, stubborn, regal creature. They were both, in their own ways, wandering princes.

Regulus walked back to the front doors of the weather-worn stable, avoiding the leaks in the roof, and wondered if he could get to the doors of the castle without getting drenched. He vaguely recalled a spell he’d once learned that created a barrier between the spellcaster and the rain, but he could not remember the incantation. He wondered if a Shield Charm would work, or if it would be too much.

As Regulus drew his wand to attempt it, a large shriek came from the gates on the northern wall. It was so eerily like his mother’s he startled, but he quickly banished his fear and pressed forward into the rain.

When he reached the gates, utterly drenched, he saw a cloaked figure, wand drawn, facing off against Buckbeak, who reared back on his lion-like hindquarters, eagle talons ready to slash through flesh. Regulus drew his wand and shouted the first spell that came to his mind.

“ _Protego_!”

A white shield shimmered before Buckbeak, and a red spark from the wizard’s wand bounced off the shield. The wizard fell backwards into the ground, revealing a woman with white-blonde hair, a sharp nose, high cheekbones, and wide dark eyes.

“Narcissa?”

A rush of joy overwhelmed Regulus to see his favorite cousin again, but it was quickly drowned by worry. Narcissa was married to Lucius Malfoy, who supported the Dark Lord and had even witnessed Regulus’s attempt on the Dark Lord’s life. Surely she knew what Regulus had done, and it was possible she might still betray him the Dark Lord.

The more imminent danger, however, was the territorial hippogriff that looked like it was only hesitating because it wasn’t sure if it should attack Regulus or Narcissa first. Regulus made his careful amends with Buckbeak. He bowed low and waited until he had received the respect in return. He straightened and Buckbeak stepped closer. Regulus got between the hippogriff and his cousin protectively, but Buckbeak didn’t attack. Instead, he shoved his beak into Regulus’s robes, looking for treats.

“They’re in the stable where it’s dry.” Regulus bit back a comment about Buckbeak being an idiot for being out in the rain, knowing it would set the hippogriff off again. Buckbeak would lash out at the slightest insult but failed to respond to simple commands like come, go, and stay. Perhaps Buckbeak was more like Sirius than Regulus.

Buckbeak huffed and clicked his beak, irritated there were no treats hidden in Regulus’s robes. He wandered off in the direction of the stables.

Once Buckbeak was far enough away, Regulus knelt down and helped Narcissa to her feet. 

Regulus was not sure he had ever, in his entire life, seen his cousin so disheveled. Rain streamed from her face in rivulets, soaking her robes. The mud had splashed as she fell into it and now covered her cloak in dark splotches. Her hair had come undone and hung around her face, dripping, and the makeup she must have so neatly applied earlier that day streaked down her cheeks. Regulus assumed it was the rain, but when he saw the red rimming her dark eyes, he thought she may have been crying.

She wiped at her cheeks, but it did little more than smudge the black lines on her face.

“What are you doing here?” Regulus asked.

Narcissa bit down on her lower lip, and her dark eyes drifted to Regulus’s wand, still drawn, but at ease. “I thought…. I thought you might be here.”

Whatever warm greeting they might have had, after seeing each other for the first time in eighteen years, seemed washed away by the circumstance of an out-of-season storm, a dangerous hippogriff, and the shock of meeting here, in the place that had once been the source of all their grand adventures as children, a place neither of them should ever have returned to. It didn’t help that Regulus still worried Narcissa could betray his location to the Dark Lord.

Despite his fear, Regulus led Narcissa inside the castle. It was drier in here, but the drips from their drenched cloaks echoed alongside their footsteps. As they walked, neither spoke. Narcissa’s eyes wandered the entrance hall. She took in the worn red carpeting, the dusty gas lamps affixed to the walls, and the copper pipes that fueled them, visible on the walls’ exterior. As Regulus lit the gas lamps, Narcissa’s gaze drifted across two white splashes of paint that stood out like giant stars on the dark stone. A faint smile flickered across her face.

“Yours and Sirius’s handiwork?” she asked.

“Yes,” Regulus said.

“The bigger one is his?”

“He always had to be the brightest.”

Narcissa’s hand trailed along the stone and her smile turned sad. “I suppose Andromeda’s artwork is still here as well?”

Regulus led her from the entryway into what had once served as a receiving hall, but as children it had become their playroom. Evidence of their time here remained in work benches, covered in toys, tools, and paints. Scaffolding still lined the walls, and most prominent of all, the children’s artwork remained on the ceiling.

The high ceiling had been painted black, and three constellations stood out against the pseudo sky. The constellation furthest to the left was a detailed recreation of Andromeda. Each star was carefully marked and accurately measured to reflect the constellation in perfection. Light blue detail had been added to illustrate Andromeda herself, with gold decoration in her crown and dress. The chains around Andromeda’s wrists were done in harsh red.

“As dramatic as I remembered,” Narcissa said, and her smile faded. “She always felt trapped, didn’t she?”

“Until Perseus slashed her chains, I suppose.”

Narcissa sniffed. “She could have married a Perseus. Instead she —” She stopped herself, but Regulus didn’t need her to finish. He and Narcissa understood better than anyone else what it was to be left behind, to be abandoned.

The central constellation on the ceiling had been painted by Bellatrix. It was an artistic rendition, with little attention to detail. Orion had been transformed into a handsome woman warrior, and instead of being the third brightest star, the star on Orion’s right shoulder — Bellatrix — shone the brightest. And of course, added years later, was the constellation Sirius, nipping at Orion’s heel. Besides Andromeda’s chains, the only other red in the ceiling mural was the blood spurting from Orion’s calf.

“They haven’t changed at all,” Regulus said.

“No, they haven’t,” Narcissa echoed.

She looked around the grand hall, to the abandoned abandoned paints, toy wands, and dusty work benches.

“It is safe here, isn’t it?” she asked. “If you’re here?”

Regulus hesitated. “Well, nothing has attacked me in the kitchen, at least.”

The castle itself wasn’t much more dangerous than Grimmauld Place. There was the expected danger that came from abandoning a place full of dark objects, and Steorran Castle had stood empty for almost two hundred years, as the power of the wizarding world shifted from land ownership to political influence, and the Black family shifted with it. 

By the 1800s, the countryside estate had become little more than a place to escape to when the city became to confining. When Phineas Nigellus Black passed away in 1925, his four sons and his daughter fought over their inheritance.

Sirius Black II claimed Grimmauld Place and Steorran Castle for his own family, since he was the eldest and, arguably, the favored son.

Phineas II had been disowned for supporting Muggle rights, and, though he attended his father’s funeral, was banned from attending any meetings about inheritance.

Cygnus I and Arcturus I each laid claim to Steorran Castle, since Sirius Black II already managed Grimmauld Place, and surely they deserved property for their families as well.

The daughter, Belvina, had long been married to a prosperous Burke, and though she fought for every ounce of fortune she could dig her nails into, she had no claim to any of the estates.

The feud lasted years, and the property remained empty through it all. Arcturus passed away with no living male heirs, only three daughters who all married purebloods — though one had gotten some frowns when she’d married a Weasley, even if he was a seventh son in a pureblood line. Cygnus’s only son Pollux decided it was more important to live in London, and had raised his children there, not far from Grimmauld Place, but insisted he could live at the castle if he wanted to. Sirius Black II’s descendants continued living in Grimmauld Place, and though they claimed they owned Steorran Castle as well, none made any attempt to live there.

When Sirius’s grandson Orion married Cygnus’s granddaughter Walburga, it seemed the feud had ended. Whoever the property had belonged to, it was now brought under one roof. Perhaps Alphard or Cygnus III, as Walburga’s younger brothers, could have claimed it, but by the time Orion and Walburga had married, Cygnus III and Druella still had no male heirs. Alphard never seemed interested in marriage. It seemed the feud over Steorran Castle had ended.

Regulus took Narcissa from the grand hallway into the kitchen, using a secret door they had discovered as children — a servant’s passage to the kitchen. Regulus took off his still dripping cloak and hung it near the unlit fireplace.

“Kreacher?” he called.

With a crack, the elderly house-elf appeared. He looked startled to see two people, and bowed low. His long, trunk-like nose scraped against the floor. He twisted his hands in his teacloth.

“Master Regulus — Mistress Narcissa — Kreacher is humbled and so grateful to see you safe and well.”

Narcissa smiled. “I am glad to see you as well, Kreacher.” Her smile wavered. “You… you may still take orders from me, then?”

“Of course, mistress. Kreacher lives to serve the house of Black.”

Her pale face seemed to lose all color. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Then… you answer to Bella as well?”

“Mistress Bellatrix has not called on me in many years, but if —”

“Kreacher is forbidden to speak to anyone but me of this place,” Regulus said with a dry smile. “If that eases your fears at all.”

This did seem to relax Narcissa, a little. “You can’t tell her you’ve seen me.” Her voice was desperate and her hands trembled; Regulus did not think it was from the cold. As worried as he was, he could not help feeling relieved to see how scared she was of Bella. That meant she was not going to tell the Dark Lord where he was.

“Kreacher will speak to no one of Mistress Narcissa. Kreacher keeps his masters’ secrets.”

Narcissa let out a deep breath and removed her cloak. She still looked nervous, but a weight seemed to have lifted from her.

Regulus found it strange to see Narcissa so open and vulnerable. Regulus was used to seeing her regal and composed, and had learned much of his own impassiveness from her. It was Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Sirius who were the wild ones, the ones who climbed scaffolding to touch the stars. Regulus and Narcissa had always been the reserved ones, who watched and learned, who made their own accomplishments in their siblings’ shadows, and prayed someone might notice.

Perhaps in their childhood summer home, with just the two of them, it was easier for Narcissa to be vulnerable. 

With the Black feud tentatively ended by Walburga and Orion’s marriage, and a new generation of Black children born, Alphard Black stopped traveling the world and settled down in Steorran Castle. He set about updating the castle, adding in modern inventions like plumbing and gas lamps. He always invited the children to spend the summer with him. It was here, under his care, that the children had flourished, playing Quidditch in the yard and painting constellations on the ceilings. He seemed to understand that keeping children inside, drilling family histories into them, could make anyone go mad, and he had offered them a kind of freedom here in Steorran Castle. Uncle Alphard became everyone’s favorite, even Bellatrix, until he passed away and his will revealed his true colors.

“Kreacher,” Regulus said, “perhaps you could get us some tea and dry our cloaks.”

“Of course, Master.” 

There was a pop as Kreacher Disapparated and the two cloaks vanished with him. 

It was no lavish dining hall, but Regulus pulled out a chair at the table for Narcissa. She smiled politely and smoothed her damp dress before seating herself. He wanted to ask why she was here, what she had meant when she said she was looking for him, but he she seemed so nervous he was afraid interrogating her might make it worse. He decided to wait until she had tea in her hands.

As Regulus took a seat, Narcissa traced her fingertips over a thin carving in the shape of a heart. 

“Yours?” he asked.

“Drommie’s,” she said, voice still bitter. “I was better behaved than that. I remember asking her if the ‘T’ had stood for Travers. I never would have guessed ‘Tonks.’”

“That must have been our last summer here,” Regulus said, “at least with all five of us.”

“Bella didn’t join us that year.” Narcissa wiped her hand over the carving like she might be able to rub it out. “She was traveling in Europe. It was only us four, and Drommie spent most of the summer inside, talking to Uncle Alphard. Secret conversations they quickly ended whenever I was nearby. And you and Sirius had your brooms, and I….”

Regulus bit down on the inside of his cheek, unsure what to say. Did he need to apologize to Narcissa for leaving her out when they were children? Fortunately, he was saved by Kreacher and the hot tea.

Narcissa added a single helping of sugar and the smallest splash of milk. Regulus added more milk than he probably should have, but around Narcissa he didn’t feel he had to pretend he liked bitter tea.

“I can’t stay very long,” Narcissa said. “Bella will get suspicious.”

“She’s living with you, then?”

Narcissa nodded. Her eyes misted with tears, but she blinked them away. “I’m happy she wasn’t arrested, but Lucius —” Her voice cracked, and she quickly took a sip of her tea.

Regulus remembered what Nymphadora Tonks had told the Order about her investigations as an Auror. She’d learned Rookwood was hiding out at Malfoy Manor, and they’d all made a very large assumption about who else was staying with the Malfoys.

“The Dark Lord is staying with you as well?”

Narcissa’s eyes widened. She looked as if she’d been presented with a death sentence — and Regulus thought perhaps the Dark Lord had done just that for Lucius’s failure. Lucius was probably safer in Azkaban, but Narcissa…. Her trembling hands suddenly made sense.

“Cissy,” Regulus said softly, “if there’s anything I can do to help you —”

“Did you mean it?” she whispered, as if Bella or the Dark Lord could overhear them somehow. 

“Did I mean what?”

“What you said in your letter. That you would do anything to protect the people you love. I — I searched for that letter you sent me; I’d always kept it close, but I don’t know what’s happened to it. Still, I’ve never forgotten what you said.”

Regulus did remember his last letter to Narcissa. He’d stolen it from her, along with several other letters, and put it in a book that was meant to incriminate people like Lucius and Bella, and that last letter, specifically, was stolen to exonerate himself, or at least to ease any sentencing the Ministry might give him. Unfortunately, Sirius had burned the book before Regulus could use it as evidence.

Regulus did not remember the letter saying he’d do anything to protect the people he loved. He was fairly certain he’d said he would do anything to bring down the Dark Lord. Perhaps he had been unclear.

“I would never let anyone hurt you.” Regulus reached his hand across the table and closed it over Narcissa’s. “If you need to hide here, or bring your son —”

Narcissa made a very weak attempt at stifling a sob. One hand clutched tightly to Regulus’s and the other fumbled clumsily in her robes for a handkerchief. She tried very hard not to cry, but it seemed she had spent too long holding it all in, and being with Regulus here in the place they’d been the most free was too large a crack in the dam. Her tears burst forth in a flood.

That last summer with the four of them had been Narcissa’s last summer all together. It was the following year that Andromeda eloped with Edward Tonks, a Muggle-born wizard. Walburga had furiously burned Andromeda off of the family tree while Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus fought for any way they could to have the marriage annulled, or at least get back the dowry Andromeda had swindled out of her grandfather before running off. Regulus and Sirius had been ushered off to Uncle Alphard to get them out of the way while their parents could work on preserving the family’s face in pureblood society. Narcissa, however, had been kept at home under lock and key.

It wasn’t too long afterwards that Sirius was scorched off the family tree, when he’d run away to the Potters. That summer was possibly the worst season of Regulus’s life, though it was a hard choice between that and the winter he’d spent confined to a parlor couch, in agony from a poison that should have killed him.

Only a year later, Walburga had made her final edition to the family tree. When Uncle Alphard died, he left a very clear will. None of his money went to the Black family. Most of it went to Sirius Orion Black III, and some of it went to Andromeda Minette Black. He’d also left Steorran Castle to Andromeda.

Walburga had spent that entire year at the Ministry, while goblins and wizards alike pored over laws and deeds to either lay claim to the castle herself or to prove it had always belonged to her husband. She wasn’t choosy; all she wanted was to keep it out of a blood-traitor’s hands. The trouble was, Uncle Alphard had been Cygnus I’s eldest living male heir, and he had been managing the property alone for the last twenty years. By that old family feud, he had every right to claim Steorran Castle, and though the Black family did not traditionally pass property to women, the laws that had prevented it in the centuries before no longer existed. Uncle Alphard could leave it to Andromeda if he wished.

Eventually, the Ministry promised Walburga that she legally owned the estate, and Alphard had never had the authority to leave it to Andromeda in the first place. She told everyone she and her husband were retiring to the country for Orion’s health, but Regulus knew it was only because she’d been afraid Uncle Cygnus might try to fight her claim. She’d lived there while the war had gone on, until her husband had passed. Regulus had heard that her health really did decline when neither of her sons showed up to their father’s funeral, and she did not return to Grimmauld Place until after Regulus had been sentenced to life in Azkaban.

Steorran Castle had remained empty after that. Whatever the Ministry said, there was powerful magic around how Black family property was inherited. Regulus had never heard rumor of the property trying to throw his mother out, so maybe her claim was true. Or, if it was Andromeda’s, she’d never tried to live in it. Still, every so often, one of the suits of armor that he and Sirius had played with as children took a swing at him, like the castle knew he didn’t belong here.

Narcissa blew her nose into her handkerchief in an uncharacteristically loud and unladylike fashion. Regulus dug into his own robes for a clean kerchief so she could dry her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. She sniffed took another sip of her tea. “I’m sorry — I don’t know why I came here.”

“You said it was to find me.”

She smiled. They’d always had a similar sense of humor. It had served them well, brought them closer together, and infuriated their older siblings.

Narcissa took another deep breath. “I came to ask what you thought of Severus Snape. You and he have both changed loyalties at different times and I thought —” Her voice cracked once again, but this time she was able to resteady herself. “I thought if I could trust you, it might be possible to trust him.”

Regulus frowned, also forgetting to remain impassive here, in this castle, alone with Narcissa. “I’ve never trusted Severus.”

Narcissa wrung the handkerchief and blinked back another round of tears. “I don’t — I don’t know that I have any other choice. Draco, he….” She bit her lower lip as it quivered again. She seemed to be building the bricks in her dam back up and when she looked at Regulus again, her eyes were dark and firm as steel. She looked eerily like her sister, before Bellatrix had gone mad in Azkaban. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect him — nothing. You said you would protect your family. Draco’s your family.”

Regulus knew a little of Draco, but the stories had all been filtered through Sirius, Harry, or Ginny Weasley, in the brief time he’d spent at Hogwarts as her cat. None of those people had particularly flattering things to say of Draco.

“I’ll do anything I can to help you, Narcissa,” Regulus promised, and he meant it. Narcissa was the only person in the world who understood him at all. They may have fallen on opposite sides of a war in the end, but they would always be on the side of their family.

“Bella doesn’t trust Severus, and she’d be furious if she knew I was here, too, but Draco needs as much help at Hogwarts as I can find for him. You hid there, didn’t you? You know how to get in and out of the castle undetected?”

“I do, or at least I did. That was before the Dark Lord’s return. Surely the castle will be far more secure than it ever has been —”

“Do you have Dumbledore’s trust?”

Regulus stiffened in his seat. He was unsure how to answer. He had made several sloppy attempts to conceal his connections to Dumbledore — it would not do to have the Dark Lord think Dumbledore knew of horcruxes — but he did not know what exactly the Death Eaters believed of him.

Regulus chose his next words very carefully. “I don’t know what Bella may have told you about me, but I have done what I needed to to survive.”

“But does Dumbledore trust you?” Her eyes were cold and her voice like ice. She looked so much like Bella had, the day Andromeda had left. She looked like she could kill if she needed to.

Regulus wanted to answer Narcissa honestly, and not just because he was afraid of how much she resembled Bella. This was the cousin he loved best, and she had come to find him in the place they had played together as children. She had openly wept in front of him, in a way he hadn’t seen since she’d miscarried her first child. But Regulus had not been completely honest with anyone in many years, not even Dumbledore. Lies and secrecy had kept him alive, as it had for Narcissa. 

“He trusts me with what he asks of me,” Regulus said. “I imagine he trusts me with little more than that.”

Narcissa considered his words as carefully as Regulus had chosen them. “Draco will not speak to me, hasn’t since… since he was given his task. He used to trust me with everything, but with this — he is determined to succeed on his own merit. I hope he will trust Severus, but that was before we knew Severus was infatuated with that Mudblood. If Draco will not let him help….” She ran her thumb along the rim of her teacup. “You know how to travel undetected. You’ve evaded the Ministry and the Dark Lord for this last year. You can help Draco without being noticed.”

Regulus imagined spending a year at Hogwarts as Llewelyn. He’d have to escape the notice of those who knew his secret — the children whose parents were in the Order, Hagrid, Snape, Dumbledore, and McGonagall — and spend his time traveling between the Slytherin dormitories and the kitchens to steal what food he could. It didn’t sound pleasant.

“What has the Dark Lord asked of Draco?”

Narcissa’s lip trembled again, her cold front melting slightly. “I can’t — I’ve been forbidden to speak of it. But it is not —” She closed her eyes and swallowed. Her words seemed tight, like they were squeezed out of her with no air. “The Dark Lord does not mean for Draco to succeed. It is too great a task for a boy of sixteen. He will die. Either Dumbledore will kill him or the Dark Lord —”

She buried her next sob in Regulus’s handkerchief. Though she did not say what task Draco had been given, Regulus understood immediately. Dumbledore would not kill Draco Malfoy, not unless his own life was threatened — even then, Regulus was unsure Dumbledore would kill Draco. Mostly because he would not need to.

If this was the case, then, Regulus was not sure what he could do for Draco. He could not kill Dumbledore himself. Could he stand between Dumbledore and Draco or the Dark Lord and Draco, if it came to that? Regulus considered how he had so narrowly dodged death these last eighteen years. He had not expected it to knock again in the form of a family member he had never met.

But considering his family, perhaps he should have.

“I will do what I can to save Draco from Dumbledore or the Dark Lord, whichever it comes to.”

Narcissa reached across the table and took Regulus’s hand in hers. Tears streaked from the corners of her eyes and down her cheeks. “Thank you.” She looked down at their clasped hands and let out a broken laugh. “Bella made Severus make the Unbreakable Vow. But you — you’re family.” She squeezed his hand once more, then wiped her cheeks dry. 

Regulus went so cold and still, he felt as if his heart had stopped working. Severus had made the Unbreakable Vow? To what? Kill Dumbledore first? He knew Dumbledore trusted Severus, despite Regulus’s repeated insistence that Severus was slippery, two-faced, and untrustworthy. It was the one thing Sirius and Regulus agreed on. It might be the very thing that could kill someone as powerful as Dumbledore. And if their side of the war lost Albus Dumbledore, nothing would stand between the Dark Lord and the Ministry.

Regulus was not sure how long he was lost in the shock, the nightmare that Severus could kill Dumbledore and the Dark Lord’s victory would be all but assured, but when he remembered where he was, Narcissa was standing, and taking a freshly cleaned and dry cloak from Kreacher. Regulus had not even heard the house-elf Apparate.

“Thank you,” Narcissa said again. She pulled the cloak around her shoulders and ran her hands through her pale hair, pulling it back into a stylized knot. Though her robes were still damp and her eyes still red, she looked like the cousin that Regulus remembered. She held her chin high and her shoulders straight, but relaxed, and only the barest hint of a smile touched her pink lips. She was stunning, the way all Black women were stunning, and she still carried the glint in her eyes that said she was capable of murder. Marriage may have changed her name, but it had not changed her blood.

“I hope when I see you again, this will all have passed.”

Regulus stood and nodded. “When we see each other again,” he said, as if it were a promise.

Narcissa stalked out of the kitchen, and the echo of her footsteps disappeared through the castle. 

“Would Master Regulus like his cloak now,” Kreacher asked, “or will he finish his tea here?”

“No,” Regulus said, and stood. “I — I need to speak with Dumbledore immediately. I….” Regulus ran his hands through his long dark hair, still wet from the rain, and cast about the old kitchen, searching for a solution, any solution. His eyes landed on an empty portrait frame. _Phineas_.

“Take me to Grimmauld Place,” Regulus said. “The first bedroom on the second floor.”

Kreacher obediently took Regulus’s hand and the two of them Disapparated with a pop.

They reappeared in the old bedroom, three twin beds still pushed against the walls from when Neville, Harry, and Ron had shared this room last summer. The washbasin on the end table stood dry, and the portrait above it was empty.

“Phineas,” Regulus said as quickly and loudly as he dared. “Phineas Nigellus — I need to speak with you — Please, I need to speak with Dumbledore.”

There was a dissatisfied harumph, a rustling that sounded like paintbrush strokes across a canvas, as if Phineas were rearranging his appearance before he stepped into the flame. “You young are always so hasty. Everything is urgent with you. Have you no —”

“I need to speak with Dumbledore immediately,” Regulus said. “Can I use the Floo to get to him? Or can I meet him in Hogsmeade? Or —”

“Have you no respect? None at all?! I am your great-great-grandfather, boy, and I demand some respect from you! I thought you were supposed to be the well-behaved one.”

Regulus regretted coming from a family of such stubborn, cross people. “Please, Great-great-grandfather, I must speak with Dumbledore right now.”

“He is currently in a confidential meeting with Severus Snape and cannot —”

“No!” Regulus almost tried to climb through the portrait and follow Phineas into Hogwarts. Severus had just been asked by Narcissa to help kill Dumbledore and was now alone with him? Regulus had to get to Dumbledore, had to get to his office, but how?

Regulus turned around and his eyes lit up. Manic inspiration seemed to course through him. “Kreacher — You’re an elf!”

Kreacher blinked once at Regulus, face otherwise impassive. He had served many members of the Black family, and had undoubtedly watched more than one go mad. “Yes, Master Regulus. I am a house-elf, loyal to the Black —”

“Can you Apparate into Hogwarts?”

Kreacher’s hesitation was the only sign of his surprise. “Yes, Master, Kreacher can —”

“Take me to Dumbledore’s office, please!”

Kreacher took Regulus’s hand and the two Disapparated once more.

The world took a moment to settle in, as it always did when Side-Along Apparating. First, Regulus felt the solid stone beneath his feet, then he heard Severus’ voice saying, “— and I will continue to repeat how foolish you were each time. Consider it part of your medicine.”

Regulus fumbled for his wand before he had even processed the words, before his fingers even felt solid. He wasn’t sure if the Apparating process was taking longer or if his brain was simply working more quickly, as if he were already in a duel. By the time his vision had come into focus and he was certain he was in Dumbledore’s office, he already had his wand drawn, and he pointed it in the direction of Severus Snape.

Severus Snape, too, had his wand drawn, but it was not attacking Dumbledore. Regulus blinked to be certain of what he saw.

Dumbledore was seated at his desk, and his right hand dangled over the arm of his chair, blackened, burned, and shriveled, as if he had pulled it out of a fire. Severus stood beside him, wand in one hand and a cup in the other. He now pointed the wand at Regulus, but as Regulus let the scene filter in, he realized Severus had been chastising Dumbledore, not taunting him. Severus had not done this to Dumbledore’s arm.

Regulus also saw, lying on Dumbledore’s desk, a ring set with a large black stone that was cracked down the middle and beside it lay the sword of Godric Gryffindor.

Regulus’s fear for Dumbledore clashed with a wave of hurt. Had Dumbledore gone after a horcrux without him? Had he taken Severus instead? Was it some sort of punishment for what he’d done in the graveyard two years ago?

“Regulus Black.” Though Dumbldore was smiling, his voice was weak. “What a surprise. It isn’t like you to show up unannounced.”

Regulus hesitated to lower his wand. It did not seem like Dumbledore was in any immediate danger, but he still did not trust Severus.

“I did tell Phineas I requested to meet with you. He was less than helpful. I apologize for not sending Kreacher first to announce myself.”

“What was so urgent you needed to come see me in this fashion?”

Regulus flicked his gaze between Severus and Dumbledore. “I happened to meet with my cousin Narcissa this afternoon. She let slip some information about the Dark Lord I thought you might find interesting.”

Dumbledore’s smile widened. “If it is about Voldemort’s plan to have Draco Malfoy murder me, your information is a little late. Severus and I discussed it at some great length just yesterday.”

Regulus lowered his wand, more out of surprise than anything else. “You — you already knew?”

“Oh yes. I think between the two of us, we have this task well in hand. Was there anything else?”

Regulus suddenly remembered a conversation he’d overheard between his mother and Uncle Alphard one summer afternoon, just before he and Sirius were to leave with their uncle for Steorran Castle. He had been barely eight years old.

“I am warning you to keep an eye on Bella — she’s too much like her mother,” Walburga had snapped.

“Bella is headstrong,” Uncle Alphard said, “but I can handle her just fine. She enjoys the castle and the observatory. She’ll have plenty to keep her occupied.”

“Hah! I haven’t forgotten Druella tried to poison Sirius when he was just an infant. Why do you think I had two sons? She thinks her daughters can inherit all the family wealth if Orion and I are childless — You watch Bella, and make sure she doesn’t hurt my sons.”

Walburga had said, “sons,” the way she might have said, “gold” or “family heirlooms.” Her children were a way she held status, a way she preserved her bloodline. They were not exactly things she loved. And Regulus? He was only an extra, a backup plan in case something happened to Sirius.

That was how Regulus felt as Severus stood beside Dumbledore’s desk, beside a broken horcrux, already having informed Dumbledore of the Dark Lord’s plan. Regulus had not been here because he was not truly needed. He was only second, a spare in case something went wrong with the first spy.

“No, that was all.” Regulus kept his voice as even as possible. “I must say, though, I am curious where you found such an ostentatious ring.”

Snape took his eyes off of Regulus for the first time to sneer at Dumbledore. “Yes, do tell. And while you’re at it, explain what foolishness led you to _put it on_ , for Salazar’s sake.”

Dumbledore’s smile twitched but his blue eyes were cold. “I’m afraid I arrogantly thought I could handle this ring alone. Perhaps my mind is slipping in my old age. Though, curiously, I discovered this unique treasure not terribly far from our last excursion, Regulus.”

Regulus remembered his search with Dumbledore at the Riddle House, two years ago. They had found nothing there. Had the ring been hidden somewhere else in Little Hangleton?

Severus opened his mouth to press further, but Dumbledore yawned. He covered his mouth with his usable hand. “You’ll have to excuse me, gentlemen. Thank you for the potion, Severus. It has helped, I’m sure, but it has left me quite tired.”

Severus seemed reluctant to leave while Regulus still stood in the center of Dumbledore’s office, but he took the cup and headed down the circular stairs that returned him to Hogwarts.

Regulus took Kreacher’s hand once again, but before he could ask for a return trip to Grimmauld Place, Dumbledore spoke.

“The time will be coming very soon when you and Severus must work together,” Dumbledore said. There was an unusual urgency in his voice; his exhaustion had vanished completely.

Regulus fought down the hurt that had sprung up when he’d learned he was unnecessary to Dumbledore’s plan and reached for the easier emotion — anger. “That’s what you said eighteen months ago, but that was before I attempted to kill the Dark Lord myself, which you properly scolded me for, you’ll recall.”

“You and I both know how foolish an attempt that was. More foolish than putting on this ring, knowing full well what it was. But I don’t expect you to become my spy in the way we had originally discussed. You will need to be Severus’s liaison between Hogwarts and the Order. Your unique skill as an Animagus will be useful in this task.”

Regulus shook his head. “Why will you need someone to go between Severus and the Order? Why can’t he go to the Order himself — and besides, Potter and Sirius are Animagi as well; why not have it be them?”

Dumbledore smiled. “Their forms are far more conspicuous than yours. This will be a task that requires subtlety.”

“I don’t understand. Why won’t Severus continue to work with the Order directly?”

“Because, as we both know, Severus Snape is going to kill me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated!


	3. Will and Won't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily takes tea at the Longbottom's estate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read my first draft Will and Won't, written years ago about Remus and Sirius, well, this one is totally different.  
> If you were hoping to finally get to Harry's perspective, I'm sorry -- just one more chapter.   
> If you were hoping that Lily Potter would take tea at the Longbottoms and have a discussion about "The Chosen One" then you were absolutely right.
> 
> Enjoy!

The smell of earth was strong in the humid summer air. Lily Potter loved that smell. It was so different from Cokeworth. Not that she had any hatred of her childhood home, but there was something wonderful about the smell of things growing. Things didn’t grow in Cokeworth, at least not well or prettily. Her most vivid memory of seeing Hogwarts wasn’t the boat ride across the Black Lake, like it was for so many. For Lily, it was that first morning, when she’d opened the window in her dormitory, looked out to see nothing but green grass and tall trees, and smelled the fresh, clear air.

As Lily walked down the dirt path that wound through the shrubbery, she took in a deep breath. Her ribs ached as her chest expanded with air, and she tried not to feel angry with herself for it. It would take time for her injury to heal completely. She’d chosen, in the heat of battle, to protect Remus over herself, and she’d taken a curse for it. She was lucky to be alive. 

Lily had made several similar choices in her life, thrown many Shield Charms in front of loved ones and taken hits herself. She defended those who needed defending, whether that was a boy with dark, greasy hair being bullied by his peers or her son, tucked into his cradle and threatened by the darkest wizard of the century.

She had no cause to regret those choices. Even if she had died, she’d die knowing she did the right thing. She’d die knowing she’d protected the people she loved. There were some days, some very bad days, it seemed harder to live with the consequences.

Lily reached the large house at the end of the winding pathway. Though the grounds of the estate may have smelled similar to her home of Styncon Garden, the house itself was far grander. White stone steps formed a porchway, and Corinthian columns supported the roof. The style was certainly unusual for an English estate, and Lily wondered when it had been built. 

The doors were bright red, and large windows stood on either side. Through gauzy curtains, she could see an entryway with white stone floors and a wide sweeping staircase. It made her own estate feel humble, and she was certainly okay with that. Evanses weren’t much for grandeur, and becoming a Potter had been enough of an adjustment in that department. She could not have imagined the learning curve if she’d married a Longbottom.

Lily knocked on the door.

There was a pop and the door opened to reveal a house-elf with bright blue eyes and an unusually tiny, button-like nose. “Mrs. Potter! Come in, come in!” he said in a high, squeaky voice, so different from Kreacher’s gravely voice, and certainly more welcoming.

“Mistress Longbottom is expecting you, she is,” the house-elf said. “She’s in the fourth parlor, preparing to take tea. I’ll show you there.”

Lily thanked the house-elf, and followed him through the house. Despite the overwhelming grandeur, there were clear marks of the quirky family she knew so well. Indoor plants lined the halls, and some even spilled out of the pots they’d been planted in, with leaves and roots alike stretching across the floor. Portraits were not stiff and stately like the Blacks’, but full of life, and occupants who scurried about to other portraits. A few even called politely to her and said hello.

Lily remembered the first time she’d visited James’s family. She’d been nervous enough about meeting his parents, and what they might think of a Muggle-born witch. She hadn’t even considered meeting the portraits until she’d stepped inside and a gentleman in a white powdered wig had demanded loudly to know what her name was, where did she come from, was she well-aware what a troublesome child James Fleamont Potter was and surely someone as lovely as her could do better than a scrawny, sloppy boy like him.

James’s parents had been just as welcoming as the portraits.

Lily and the house-elf passed several parlors as they walked. Two were filled with elderly family members, all talking loudly amongst each other. Cigar smoke drifted out of a third, mingled with quieter voices and some laughter. Eventually, the house-elf brought Lily to a pale pink door. He turned the handle and stepped inside.

“Mistress Longbottom,” he bowed, “Arie is announcing Mrs. Lily Juniper Potter, just arrived.”

“Thank you, Arie. We’ll take tea now, then.”

The voice was surprisingly formal and elderly. Lily had expected to see Alice, but when she stepped into the parlor, she was greeted by Augusta Longbottom instead.

The elderly woman stood from her chair. Her robes were elegant, emerald green, with yellow and white embroidery that snaked along the hems, and a matching bodice over her robes. She wore a large hat with a full bird perched atop it. The bird did not move, so Lily hoped it was not real. She suddenly felt very underdressed in the light summer frock she’d picked out that morning. She’d chosen something that would not put too much pressure on her ribs, but now she wished she’d worn dress robes.

The parlor itself was lined with flowers. They were in bright, summer colors, and Lily noticed a pot of orange lilies not far from Augusta. On the tea table was the day’s edition of the _Daily Prophet_. The front page read, “Harry Potter: The Chosen One?” Lily resisted the urge to vomit from both disgust and worry.

Augusta dipped her head in a slight bow. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Potter. It’s been far too long.”

Lily tore her eyes from the newspaper and belatedly remembered the manners Euphemia Potter had drilled into her when she and James had gotten engaged. 

She curtsied. “Mrs. Longbottom, I’m as pleased as I am surprised. I don’t believe I’ve seen you since Harry’s eleventh birthday.”

When Euphemia had first begun teaching Lily the rules of pureblood society, Lily had been annoyed by the politics involved. Eventually, though, she had learned to see Euphemia’s lessons for what they were: survival skills that allowed the Potters to get away with things like curing Muggle illnesses or harboring runaways from abusive parents. In Lily’s case, she’d used the Potter etiquette to get Remus out of being jailed for being an unsafe werewolf and Harry out of Ministry discipline for using a Patronus in front of Muggles.

Lily’s lessons had been hard-learned, though. The first time Lily had attended one of the Longbottom garden teas, she had lost her temper in an argument with Augusta over Burning Bitterroot. She’d only been married to James for a year, and she did not think she had made a good impression.

“Yes, it has been far too long.” Augusta said. “I daresay you’ve been a bit too busy these last few years to host the occasional garden party. I don’t blame you, but it is a shame. Your gardens are certainly the loveliest this time of year.”

The Longbottoms, Potters, and Macmillans had a longstanding tradition of competitive summer garden parties, so the compliment was an incredibly graceful gesture. Lily took it with pride, even though James did most of the gardening himself. Herbology had never been her strongest subject.

“Thank you. I was happy enough to enjoy yours on my walk in. I’m not sure ours quite compares.” Lily smiled, but desperately wished Augusta would sit. Lily wanted to take a seat herself, but knew she shouldn’t before her hostess did.

“I’m sure you’re wondering where Alice is,” Augusta said. “She’ll be along shortly. She and Frank have taken Neville to Ollivander’s to have his wand replaced. The one I gave to Neville was my husband’s, actually. He had always been so close with Neville, while he was alive. Neville was even there when he….” Augusta cleared her throat and her grey, misty eyes shifted into crystal quickly. “Well, I thought the wand would serve him well. And it must have, or he would not still be here, it seems.”

“It was a brave thing Neville did,” Lily said. “Harry hasn’t told me much about that night, but I did speak with Cedric Diggory. He spoke very highly of Neville’s courage.”

“Of course he did.” Augusta spoke with such a sharp tone Lily worried she’d offended her. “Longbottoms are always brave. We are the family who travels the farthest in search for new forms of life, new strains of plants. We will always be the first into a battle when called on. We are not as bumbling and foolish as others might think.”

Arie the house-elf reappeared with a pop and a tea tray in hand. He presented it to Augusta, who looked over it quickly.

Lily noticed their afternoon tea included not only just tea and scones, but also smoked salmon and tea sandwiches. She, once again, regretted not dressing for high tea. In her defense, Augusta had sprung this engagement on her. It wasn’t as if she had received a formal invitation.

“This will do, Arie, thank you.” Augusta gestured to the tea table and realized the newspaper was still sitting there. She moved it to an end table, piled with an equal number of books and glass terrariums. From within the pages of the newspaper, a purple pamphlet slipped out, emblazoned in gold lettering that read:

— issued on behalf of — 

The Ministry of Magic

PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY

AGAINST DARK FORCES 

She and James had received one just like it, and had a good laugh over parts of it. While she appreciated that the Ministry was trying to do something, it was certainly far too little and far too late.

Augusta noticed the fallen pamphlet and bent down to pick it up. She set it on top of the newspaper as she sat down and frowned at the paper’s front page. 

“Do you still read the _Prophet_?” Augusta asked as she poured tea for Lily.

“Not if we can help it.” Lily sat as well. “They’ve said more than one unkind thing about our family and our friends in these last few years.”

“I remember quilling a strongly worded letter to Barnabas a couple of years ago about Rita Skeeter’s horrible words. The things that pass for wit among society these days.” Augusta sniffed. “Sugar?”

“Just milk, thank you.” Lily traditionally drank her tea plain, but her stomach was not fully recovered from that fiery curse. Sharp, acidic foods burned more than they used to. James liked to tease her, and said it was only heartburn from old age. 

“Did you know, then, that Fudge has been replaced?”

“Oh, yes. Alice and Arthur keep us well-informed of what happens at the Ministry.”

“What is your opinion of Rufus Scrimgeour?”

Lily sipped her tea. “I imagine Frank and Alice have a better opinion of him. He was head of the Auror Department, wasn’t he?”

Augusta glanced at the front page of the Daily Prophet, where a picture of Harry from the Triwizard Tournament flashed an uncomfortable grin at them and waved hesitantly. “They spoke highly of him. Everyone thought Amelia Bones would be replacing Fudge, and the _Prophet_ has not commented on this yet.”

“Didn’t Frank and Alice tell you? She was attacked by Death Eaters. I know the _Prophet_ had been keeping it quiet, but she is alive. I heard she was in St. Mungo’s still, though her location is being kept secret as much as possible.”

“Perhaps they didn’t want to worry me. I was always fond of Amelia.” Augusta picked up one of the tea sandwiches and stared at it thoughtfully. “Tell me, why don’t you care for Scrimgeour?”

Lily shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She remembered another lesson Euphemia had drilled into her: never discuss politics around purebloods. Exceptions to this rule included tactfully defending Muggles and Muggle-borns, and defending family members who worked in politics. Neither situation applied here, and Lily was afraid her sharply honest tongue could get her into trouble.

“He’s written to us a few times, now. Fudge did as well, in his last days in office.” She avoided looking at the photograph of Harry. “They would like us, specifically Harry, to work closely with the Ministry to assist them in the capture of Volde —” Lily belatedly corrected herself. “You-Know-Who.”

“And this is… not possible?”

Lily pressed her lips firmly together. It did little to keep the anger from rushing to her head when she spoke. “The same Ministry who dragged mine and James’s names through the mud to discredit Remus and Dumbledore? The same Ministry who questioned Harry’s sanity, who tried to confiscate his wand? The same Ministry who allowed Dolores Umbridge control over Hogwarts and its students! And now they want to, what, use my son as a tool — as a weapon? I won’t allow it. I won’t.”

Augusta seemed startled by the rage and passion in Lily’s voice. She took a moment to finish her finger sandwich and wash it down with a sip of tea.

“Is it true, then? That Harry is indeed ‘The Chosen One’?”

Lily was startled by the question, and her hesitation probably told Augusta all she needed to know. “Does it matter?” she finally said. “Harry isn’t even sixteen yet. Would you let Neville face off against someone known as ‘The Dark Lord’? Someone who had murdered and mutilated dear friends?”

Augusta’s lips pressed tightly into a firm line. “I am not Neville’s mother. It would not be my decision.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t.” Lily took a sip of her tea and tried to wash away the anger that threatened to consume her. She wasn’t truly angry at Augusta or even angry at the prophecy, but she could not help resenting Augusta in this moment, because Harry was the Chosen One and Neville was not.

She’d told Harry last summer that the lines from the prophecy that described one “born as the seventh month dies” and “born to those who have thrice defied him,” could have been about Harry or Neville. But Neville was not the Chosen One; Harry was. Harry had been marked by Lord Voldemort, and Lily and her family had to live with that.

She thought, in some ways, Neville was not much safer than Harry. Neville had gone to the Department of Mysteries in their misguided quest to rescue Severus. Neville had faced off against many Death Eaters, suffered Bellatrix Lestrange’s Cruciatus Curse, had his wand and nose broken by Dolohov, nearly died just as Harry and Cedric had nearly died, just as she and James….

If it had been Neville instead of Harry, Lily would have raised Harry to be just as kind and brave. That was what she and James had decided, months before Harry was even born. They would love him just the same, raise him just the same. What was important was not that Voldemort had chosen him. What was important was that Harry would have a normal childhood, and if he had to face Voldemort he would be able to do so on his own terms, by his own choice.

It had all gone fine, Lily thought, until Voldemort had kidnapped Harry from Hogwarts and used Harry’s blood to resurrect a body for himself. Just the memory of that night seemed to light her very bones on fire, a flame that creeped under her skin and made her want to scream and curse the world. Sirius had been furious with her for attempting to duel Voldemort herself that night, but Lily had not had any other choice. Either she could burn alive or she could take Voldemort with her.

James had once told her that her temper was like a phoenix. It was a flame that lashed out at the people around her, and if she was not careful it would burn her to ash as well.

Just as James had learned a bit of humility before she’d dated him, Lily had learned gentleness. She did not fan the flames of her temper so often, and she was careful — or tried to be careful — who she took it out on. If anything, motherhood had made it easier, with so much of her emotions eaten up by worry instead of anger.

“I think I would,” Augusta said suddenly, and Lily struggled to remember what their conversation was about.

“Pardon?”

“If I were raising Neville, and if Neville were ‘The Chosen One’ I think I would not be so afraid to let him fight. He is brave, kind, and so much like his father and grandfather. I would be proud of him.”

“I _am_ proud of Harry, but —”

“Please don’t misunderstand me. How you raise your son, the choices you make, these choices are yours alone.”

Lily recalled a second forbidden topic of conversation amidst pureblood society: questioning how a family raised their children. Euphemia imparted this wisdom to Lily with a bit of personal experience. She’d been politely asked to leave a party once for insinuating that Walburga Black was a terrible mother for how she’d raised Sirius. The Blacks and Potters were never invited to the same parties thereafter. While Euphemia insisted she’d done the right thing, she had suggested Lily use more tact if the situation came up.

The very caution Euphemia had suggested was clear in Augusta’s tone.

“What you do for Harry is entirely up to you, but I think, if it were my decision, I should be happy to let Neville fight. My daughter-in-law and I have hardly agreed on anything since she married Frank. We have fought over holiday decor, over wedding invitations, over the length of Neville’s hair — we see the world in very different ways, and neither of us are afraid to make our opinions plain. But the one thing we have agreed on is how proud we are of Neville. He made a very brave choice, going to the Ministry of Magic that night. He did what he thought was right, to help a teacher who has never once shown him kindness. It was truly brave, and if Neville were to ask me today if he could leave school to fight Voldemort, I would ask him the best way I could help.”

Lily was stunned by Augusta’s use of Voldemort’s name. It was rare to find people outside the Order who used it, especially in pureblood society. She knew James had picked up the habit of “You-Know-Who” from attending garden parties with his mother, and even hosting a handful of them himself. 

“But,” Augusta set her teacup down, “as I said, I am not Neville’s mother. So what I will or will not do is irrelevant.”

Lily opened her mouth to suggest that pride in Neville did little good if Neville was dead, but perhaps it was a good thing she was interrupted by a pop, and Arie the house-elf appeared suddenly.

“Mistress Longbottom,” he squeaked in a rush, “announcing Mistress Alice —”

Arie was interrupted by loud footsteps running down the hall and then the parlor door slammed open.

Alice Longbottom, a short, round-faced woman with close-cropped hair, stood in the doorway looking utterly horrified. Her eyes darted between Lily and Augusta like she was trying to determine which victim in a duel needed the most immediate treatment.

“Welcome, Alice,” Augusta said, as if Alice had not burst into the room unannounced. “I’m glad to see you’ve returned safely. Where are Frank and Neville?”

Alice took a moment to catch her breath. “They’re coming — Arie said Lily was already here, and I — well, I’d worried you had started discussing the best way to grow Burning Bitterroot again.”

“We’ve had quite a stimulating conversation,” Augusta said. “Do you think so little of my skills as a hostess?”

“We did discuss politics,” Lily said with a dry smile.

As Augusta stood, Lily hastily got to her feet. 

“What sort wand did Neville end up with?” Augusta asked.

“Cherry,” Alice said. “Unicorn hair.”

Augusta smiled. “Cherry is a powerful wood. An excellent fit. Ollivander knows his trade well.”

“Very true.” Alice met her mother-in-law’s smile but her eyes were serious. She did not seem nearly as thrilled about her son being granted such a powerful wand. When she turned to Lily, her smile, though tired, appeared genuine. “Neville’s just finishing up packing. Thank you so much for this.”

“I still think he should stay here,” Augusta said sharply.

“And I think Neville would rather spend the summer with Harry, with someone his own age, than shut up here in the house,” Alice snapped back. It was clearly not the first time they had had this fight.

“Neville is perfectly content to spend time with his aunts and uncles. We have raised him almost as much as you.”

“As grateful as Frank and I are to have such a large and supportive family, I’ll remind you that the last time we left him here while we were busy with Ministry work, he wandered off, got lost in the garden, and half the Ministry was scouring London looking for him. I think the Potter home will be a bit safer this time.”

“Last summer you whisked him off to Order Headquarters, and this summer you let the Potters take him — When am I supposed to spend time with my grandson?”

“Mrs. Longbottom,” Lily interrupted, “please feel free to visit at any time. Between James, Sirius, and I, I am sure we’ll have plenty of eyes on Neville, but you are welcome whenever you would like.”

This open invitation seemed to mollify Mrs. Longbottom.

“Thank you for your hospitality. And thank you for your company this afternoon. I enjoyed our conversation. I will see you again soon.”

Lily dipped her head respectfully as Augusta Longbottom swept out of the room with all the stately grace befitting the matron of the Longbottom family and her house-elf followed. The yellow and gold embroidery in her dress seemed to dance along her skirts as she passed. Lily wondered briefly if the fabric was enchanted, but she forgot about it the moment Alice embraced her in a bone-crushing hug.

“I am so sorry!” Alice said. “Leaving you alone with my mother-in-law — So so sorry! Ollivander couldn’t find the right wand for Neville, and I knew you’d be arriving soon, but he’s so particular about these things and I didn’t want to settle —”

“It’s alright, Alice.” Lily pulled out of the hug, relieving the pressure on her delicate ribs, and smiled. “I admit it’s been a while since I’ve had a truly formal tea, but it was quite alright. We mostly talked about Neville and Harry.”

Alice’s warm brown eyes grew misty. “She’s so proud of him. I’ve always thought she was too critical, and Frank was too careful, but it’s so nice to see them both just proud of him!”

“I’m sure they always were.”

“Oh, yes, I know. But I don’t know if Neville knew that. Longbottoms like grand accomplishments — new discoveries, ground-breaking publications, or vibrant parties. Neville’s always been, well, understated. I don’t think he ever felt like he lived up to his Gran’s expectations for him.”

“And you Fawleys are so much better at understated?” Lily raised an eyebrow. She may have learned the reputations of the wizarding families through Euphemia Potter, but even she remembered the Minister known as “Flamboyant Fawley” from her History of Magic class.

Alice waved the comment away. “Frank tells me enough that I’m loud and reckless and maybe Neville thinks my expectations are too high, but I know he can reach them. He’s already proven himself plenty.” She sank into one of the chairs and summoned a teacup for herself. “Enough about me — how have you been? I feel like we haven’t had a chance to catch up outside of Order reports.”

Lily fell into the chair beside Alice, unsure what to say. Her life was made around Order reports these days. Even though she and James had decided to step away from duties this summer, to stay home with Harry, her world still seemed to revolve around who was on which missions, for how long, and when should she expect to hear from them again. 

“James is recovering just fine,” Lily said. “He and Sirius have been dueling constantly, it seems, to help him adjust. Harry’s even joined in.”

“You look bothered by that.” Alice blew on her tea and took a sip.

“I just worry…. I don’t want Harry to think he has to become a duelist just because of Voldemort.”

Alice considered this, then set her tea down and took Lily’s hands in hers. “I don’t think Neville has any aspirations of being an Auror like Frank and I. And I think sometimes that bothers Neville, but when he asked if he could learn dueling from us so he could fight better, we didn’t hesitate to practice with him. Neville is a good, brave boy, and that’s going to put him in danger. It’s okay if Harry is prepared for danger.”

Lily bit down on her tongue. She wanted to snap, “Your son isn’t the Chosen One,” but it would be full of too much resentment. Instead, she took a minute to swallow her temper. “I just worry, I suppose.”

“That’s alright. I worry about Neville all the time, and about Frank. I wish I could tell you everything will be alright.”

“I know.” Lily pulled her hands away so she could finish her scone. “Have you heard from Remus lately?”

Alice frowned. “We had him over for dinner just the other night, and he mentioned Molly had invited him this weekend. Haven’t you spoken with him?”

Lily shook her head. She dusted the crumbs off her fingers and resisted the urge to tighten her hands into her dress like she had when she was a little girl. “I haven’t seen him since St. Mungo’s. The full moon is Monday and — this will be his first full moon without his potion since the Quidditch Cup. I’m worried, and James is worried. And Harry and Sirius, of course.”

“I’m sure he’s got a plan. Remus is smart and likeable. He’s probably got new friends to spend the full moon with as part of his assignment.”

Lily knew Remus was supposed to be befriending other werewolves and living among them at Dumbledore’s request, but she had thought he would at least come home for his transformations. Neither she, James, nor Sirius had received so much as an owl. At least he was visiting others in the Order. It was good to know he was getting a real meal every few days, even if it wasn’t at home.

“He’ll be alright,” Alice assured her. 

Lily smiled dryly. “You just said we can’t say that for sure.”

Alice stuck her tongue out at Lily. She kept a petulant look on her face as she picked her teacup back up, but as she drank her tea it softened. “How is Harry doing?”

Lily traced a seam in the arm of her plush chair. “He isn’t really talking to us. He’s quite upset with us. He talks to James more, I think because he feels guilty…. I hear him at night, sometimes, but he says they’re normal nightmares, and his scar doesn’t hurt at all. I don’t know if I have much choice except to believe him. And Dumbledore says he thinks Voldemort is done peering into Harry’s mind after his last attempt went so poorly. It’s just — It’s a lot to take in, I suppose.”

“Neville hasn’t been sleeping well either. I am worried about sending him off, but Frank and I are so busy between the Ministry and the Order —”

“He’ll be alright with us,” Lily assured her. “He and Harry will have a lovely summer, and whenever you and Frank need a place to stop for dinner, we’d be happy to have you.”

“I trust you and James. Sirius Black, on the other hand….” But Alice was grinning when she said it, and Lily grinned back.

“Sirius is —”

Lily was interrupted by a knock on the frame of the parlor door. Neville stood there, wheezing from the weight of the trunk in his hands, and Frank stood behind him. As Neville set the trunk down and straightened, Lily realized Neville was nearly as tall as his father. He looked, however, so much like his mother, with her wispy hair and pudgy face. 

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Potter,” Neville said, as if he were sitting down to afternoon tea with them. 

Lily smiled. “How was Diagon Alley?”

Neville fumbled for the wand in his pocket and presented it to Lily.

“It’s quite nice. Is it working alright so far?”

“I haven’t tried. We aren't allowed to do magic outside of school.”

Lily laughed, thinking of how often Harry, despite her best efforts, did magic outside of school.

“Try Levitating your trunk to the door,” Alice encouraged. “Mr. Ollivander said you’d need to break it in a bit.”

On his third “ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” Neville got his trunk into the air and carefully walked it down the hall to the front door.

Alice got to her feet. “This is it, then.”

Frank smiled weakly at her. His hairline had receded quite a bit these last five years, making his face seem larger. It wasn’t helped by the ears that stuck out almost like a house-elf’s, but Lily thought it just made him appear friendlier. Anyone who judged Frank by that alone, though, severely underestimated his tenacity and swiftness as a duelist.

“We’ll see him once a week, at the very least,” Frank said. “Surely Robards will give us that.”

Alice made her petulant face again. “Still wish we had Scrimgeour. He’ll be stretched too thin as Minister.”

“He’ll do alright. Maybe Bones will recover soon, and we can answer directly to her instead.”

“Can’t hurt to be optimistic,” Alice said with a weariness that suggested she’d said it a hundred times.

“It only hurts to be disappointed,” Frank said in the same tone and kissed Alice’s cheek.

Lily followed them back down the hallway. She stepped carefully over the roots and vines that spilled over the floor, and fell behind Frank and Alice, who picked their way through the hallway with the ease of habit.

When they reached the front door, they found Neville frantically searching his pockets and the ground near his feet. 

“What is it?” Frank asked, panic and urgency in his voice.

“Did you lose your wand?” Alice asked anxiously.

“I can’t find Trevor!”

Frank and Alice both relaxed. Alice pulled her wand from its holster within her robes and said, “ _Accio Trevor_!”

The toad was lifted from a plant in the hallway and flew straight into Alice’s hand. She handed him to Neville.

“Is that everything?” she asked.

“I’m sure I’ve forgot something.”

“You can always write Gran and ask her to send it,” Frank assured him. “And we won’t be unreachable. We’ll come by as often as we can.”

“I’ll be alright,” Neville said. He didn’t look nor sound like he believed it, but he puffed his chest up a little.

Frank and Alice both pulled him into a tight hug.

Lily thought about how brave Neville was, and how lucky Frank and Alice were. She did not want to be bitter, but she was. Her eyes drifted to Neville’s unscarred forehead and wondered what things might have been like if there had never been a prophecy, if Voldemort had never marked Harry.

There never would have been a duel in the graveyard at Little Hangleton. There might not have been a battle in the Department of Mysteries. James might not have lost an eye. She might not have lost Harry’s trust by keeping the prophecy from him —

A sob crawled from Lily’s chest into her throat. She swallowed it back down as best as she could, but a tear leaked out anyway and her lower lip trembled. She could blame the prophecy all she wanted, but she was the one who had made the decision to keep it from him. She and James had trusted that it would be alright to wait until Harry was seventeen. Then Voldemort had returned, and they had trusted Dumbledore when he said it wasn’t the right time. Then last week it had all fallen apart. Harry had rushed off to the Hall of Prophecy, not knowing what waited for him. Neville had been tortured; Cedric, Ron, and Hermione had nearly died; she and James had been lucky to escape as unscathed as they did.

She wanted to blame Voldemort for all of it, but some of it, she had to admit, was her own fault.

Neville broke the hug with his parents and Lily hastily wiped away her tear.

She smiled at the Longbottoms. “We’ll see you again soon. Here, Neville, I’ll get your trunk.”

Alice looked worried, but said nothing as Lily lifted the trunk with a silent Levitation Charm and opened the door. 

“Bye Mum, bye Dad.” Neville waved once more, checked his pockets again for Trevor, and headed out into the warm summer afternoon.

“Bye Neville!” they both called after him. “Be safe!” Frank said, and Alice said, “Be good!”

When they were down the grand porch steps, Neville said, “I can carry my trunk, Mrs. Potter.”

“I think I’ve got it alright. Thank you. It’s a bit of a walk from the Apparition point at Styncon Garden.” She flashed Neville her best attempt at a warm smile, the one she’d used on her first years for that brief time she’d taught at Hogwarts. “I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time with us. Harry’s very excited to have you.”

Neville frowned. “I don’t know. Doesn’t Harry spend all summer playing Quidditch? I’m afraid I’ve never been very good on a broom.”

Lily laughed. “You know, I’m not very good on a broom either. But there’s plenty of other things to do.”

“Do you have Tentacula?” Neville asked. “Uncle Ferdinand was teaching me how to trim Tentacula leaves.”

“We don’t have Tentacula, but we do have Snap Dragons.”

“Snapdragons? Aren’t those a normal flower?”

“Not the fire-breathing kind. James and I can show you all sorts of plants. I’m sure you’ll be familiar with a lot of them, but there are some unique Potter strains I’m sure even Longbottoms aren’t familiar with.”

Neville grinned. “Okay.”

They reached the end of the dirt path and manicured gardens that sprawled into untamed territory.

“Here it is,” Lily said, and set the trunk down. She grabbed one handle and reached her other hand for Neville’s. “Ready to Side-Along?”

“Yes,” he said. “I might get sick, though.”

“Just aim your sick in the grass and not on me, okay?”

“Yep.” Neville put on the most determined face she had ever seen. It was hard not to laugh as she took Neville’s hand and Disapparated.

They reappeared at the edge of Styncon Garden, near the crumbling stone wall that marked the border of the property. Once Neville felt steady enough to walk, Lily Levitated his trunk and started down the pathway. The west side was her favorite in the summer; the roses that lined the pathway were at their most fragrant this time of year. She remembered Augusta Longbottom’s comment that the Potter estate was the most beautiful in summer and her heart swelled again with pride. She did love this home quite a lot.

As they got within view of the house, the door flew open and James rushed out to meet her. Even with the patch across one eye and the grey hair that was just beginning to show over his ears, she was struck, as she often was, by how handsome he looked. Her heart swelled with love so strongly she almost dropped Neville’s trunk. 

Then Harry came out behind him. He didn’t rush as James did, but he walked, smile on his face. The way his dark, messy hair lay flat on one side and his glasses were slightly askew suggested he had been napping. It only made her happier to see him, to know he’d come out of precious sleep to greet her.

Sirius stood in the doorway with their house-elves — Picksie and her elderly mother Mellie — and all three waved in welcome.

Lily wrapped her arms around James as he reached her and buried her face into his chest. She breathed in the smell of earth, enjoyed the way it seemed to cling to him in the summer heat. She remembered breathing in Amortentia in her N.E.W.T. Potions class, smelling this exact warm summer scent and not realizing it was the smell of the boy sitting two tables away.

“Glad you guys made it safely,” James said, and broke the hug as Harry reached them.

“It is a long walk,” Neville said, face red from the sun and the hike.

Lily reached her arm out to hug Harry, and he obliged. He was her height exactly, maybe a half-inch taller, and her heart lurched to think about how close to adulthood he really was. She pulled away and looked into his eyes. He may have looked just like his father, but his bright green eyes were hers. Though she was certainly not a gifted Legilimens, she liked to think she knew what Harry was thinking because of those eyes.

“Alright?” she asked.

“Alright,” he said with a half-smile.

Lily stood on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his forehead. She felt no bitterness as the four of them finished the walk to the house, no resentment. She knew who her family was; she knew where she belonged. Whatever challenges they would face in the fight against Voldemort, she knew they would not face alone, and that gave her all the courage in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons are always appreciated!


	4. Horace Slughorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, finally, has a chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, it's time for Harry's perspective. This chapter is lengthy, as all chapters have been for this book so far and it seems that for the time being, all chapters will be.... Feel free to take it in chunks.

Harry sat in the window seat of the Potters’ small parlor. His leg bounced nervously as he twisted a purple and gold pamphlet in his hand, more out of a need to fidget than any real interest in its contents. His green eyes drifted instead to the garden outside, but it remained unchanged. The sun set slowly, and the hyacinths beneath the window danced lazily in the slight breeze. He could just make out Neville and his father working in the garden on the south side of the house. They’d invited Harry to join them, but Harry had declined, unsure if he’d had the time. He checked his wristwatch for the third time that hour.

It was still not yet seven. He had hours to go, but that did not stop him from being nervous.

The door to the parlor creaked open. Harry turned, startled, and half-expected to see Dumbledore standing in the doorway, but it was only Sirius.

Three nights ago, Dumbledore had written Lily, James, and Harry to ask if he could borrow Harry for an errand. He had been vague about what the errand was, but assured them it had nothing to do with Voldemort and was purely Hogwarts business. Still, Lily and James were hesitant to let Harry go. They trusted Dumbledore in a way they did not trust the Ministry, and Harry’s curiosity was piqued. He wanted to help Dumbledore with whatever the errand was.

“Did you get enough to eat?” Sirius asked.

This was an unusual question for Sirius, who did his best to appear irresponsible. His reckless behavior included letting Harry fly his motorbike and making jokes in the middle of life-threatening situations. Over these last two weeks, however, Sirius had been strangely attentive.

Harry tried to smile. “I think Mellie would skin me alive if I didn’t take second helpings of everything.”

“Maybe we should warn your dad. She might be fattening you up to eat you.”

Harry laughed, but his momentary humor was immediately wiped away by Sirius’s next question.

“Dumbledore won’t be here for a few hours yet. D’you want to do some drills while we wait?”

Harry groaned. He had asked Sirius at the beginning of the summer to teach him healing spells. After the fight in the Department of Mysteries, where Pearl Lais and Ginny Weasley had both broken bones, Harry had thought it would be handy to learn a few simple spells for healing up cuts and breaks. Perhaps he couldn’t practice advanced counter-curses, but he could learn the basics.

So far, Sirius had Harry doing nothing but reciting anatomy textbooks. Sirius insisted that Harry learn the name of every bone and organ, where they were in the body, and how they worked. It was a lot of information, and while Harry worked hard at it, he was tired of repeating the same words over and over.

“Can’t I do some real magic yet?” Harry asked.

“We’re not quite ready for you to stick your wand into any open wounds. The next step is dissecting a live frog.”

Harry concentrated very hard on keeping his face still, afraid to betray disgust at the idea. 

Sirius had taught himself healing magic when at fifteen, with nothing for assistance but the Hogwarts library. Harry wanted to show that same determination under Sirius’s tutelage. Still, he couldn’t help but feel queasy to think of how many frogs had suffered in Sirius’s hands as he had tried to learn all he could about healing, just to make things a little easier on Remus’s werewolf transformations.

Sirius may have worked hard to appear careless, but he was not good at it if you knew him for very long.

“I think I can do that.” Even as Harry got to his feet, he felt light-headed. 

“You sure? It’s not a pretty part of the job.”

“I want to learn this,” Harry said with more confidence. He followed Sirius from the parlor and into the dining room. “I need to know healing spells.”

Lily, seated at the dining room table, looked up from the letter in front of her. “What are you working on today?”

“Sirius wants me to dissect a frog.”

She set her quill down. “Oh! I do need some frog parts for our potions stock. Mind if I sit in and cut out what I need when you’re done?”

Sirius shrugged. “I figured for our first dissection I’d use a Duplicate, but if you need us to use a real frog….”

“No, never mind. It’s not an urgent need. Besides, I should probably finish this letter.” But Lily stared at the parchment in front of her like it was the last thing she wanted to do.

“Scrimgeour again?” Harry asked.

Lily and James had read him the letters from Fudge, and the subsequent letters from Scrimgeour, all asking for Harry’s help at the Ministry — or at the least, asking for Harry to make a show of helping the Ministry. Lily and James had asked Harry what he wanted before making their decision. Harry did not want to help the Ministry when they had done so little to help him last year, and his parents agreed. He appreciated that his parents were making a conscious effort to be more open with him, especially after they had kept the prophecy from him for so long.

Though Harry had been angry with his parents for keeping such an important secret from him, he could see now why they had done it. Even just the rumor of a prophecy had sent the Wizarding World into a frenzy. The front page of the _Daily Prophet_ wondered if Harry was “The Chosen One” to defeat Voldemort, and both Ministers for Magic incessantly begged Harry to help the Auror Office, to restore confidence in the Ministry, they said.

When Lily had told Harry the prophecy just a couple weeks ago, she’d said that she and James had never wanted Harry to grow up as a weapon. Now that people suspected Harry could be destined to defeat Voldemort, it seemed like that was all people wanted from him. He understood his parents’ desire for secrecy much more clearly.

It was still hard to forgive them.

“That’s our latest letter to Scrimgeour.” Lily gestured to a sheet of parchment at her left. “I’m waiting for James to read and sign it before I send it off.” Paragraphs of black ink ran from the top to bottom of the page, lengthy words and arguments that probably could have been summarized in a simple, “No, thank you, and please stop contacting us about this matter.” She tapped the feathered end of her quill against the incomplete letter in front of her. “This one’s to Remus.”

“Did he write us?” Harry asked hopefully.

“No, I just thought…. Last Monday was the full moon, so I thought I’d let him know we were thinking of him, and maybe send him some chocolate frogs.”

Harry’s heart sank with disappointment. His last conversation with Remus had not been the best terms to say goodbye on. Harry had gotten upset with Remus, just as he had with Sirius and his parents, for keeping the prophecy from him. Remus had taken Harry’s anger and talked him through it, then encouraged Harry to forgive and trust his parents. He had not asked Harry for forgiveness himself, and Harry, though he was still struggling to forgive his parents and Sirius, wished Remus were here this summer, too, so Harry could at least try to repair his relationship with Remus.

“Tell him I miss him, too,” Harry said.

“Of course. Sirius?”

Sirius snorted. “I have nothing to say to him that I haven’t already told him.” He hesitated, then sighed. “If you really want him to come by, let him know I won’t be here, and I’ll clear out for whatever day it is. It’s me he’s avoiding more than anything.”

Lily frowned. “I’m sure that’s not —”

“Come on, Harry, let’s look at some frog innards.”

Sirius disappeared into the kitchen. Lily frowned after him.

“Do you know what he means?” She kept her voice low to keep it from carrying into the kitchen.

“Sort of. Not really.” Harry ran his hand through his hair in a gesture that was so unconsciously like his father. “They fought at St. Mungo’s. Sirius said it was about nothing, but I think he was mad Remus wouldn’t take his wand.”

This did not sound like the right explanation, but Harry, who had mulled over Remus and Sirius’s fight for days now, had not been able to come up with a better answer. He’d been meaning to ask James about it but hadn’t had a chance to. Sirius, clearly, wasn’t going to talk about it.

“Harry,” Sirius called, “are we doing this or what?”

Harry hurried into the kitchen. Picksie had been wiping down the woodstove, but when she learned what they were about to do, she squeaked and disappeared with a pop. Sirius Summoned a frog from the garden, Duplicated it, and returned the original frog to the pond. Harry wasn’t sure using a Duplication was any less disgusting, but on the whole, the experience wasn’t as terrible as Harry had expected. Sirius explained each spell he used as they cut into the frog, and told Harry that next time he would expect Harry to cast the spells. Sirius then pointed out the systems in the frog’s body, showed Harry how they worked, and asked Harry to make the appropriate comparisons to the human anatomy Harry had been learning. 

Sirius was in the middle of pointing out the nervous system when everything fell into chaos.

Neville and James returned from their gardening, arms full of Leaping Toadstools. Neville saw the frog on the table with its skin pinned back to reveal the frog’s inner workings, whispered, “Trevor —” and promptly swooned. James lurched forward to catch him before he hit the floor. All their toadstools went leaping about the kitchen.

Harry abandoned his lesson to slam the back door shut. Lily heard James shouting for help and rushed into the kitchen. A pair of toadstools leapt past her before she could close the door to the dining room. Sirius swore as the toadstools jumped around his feet. Picksie appeared suddenly to see what the commotion was and shrieked as toadstools leapt onto her head. Sirius’s half-opened frog took advantage of the distraction to spring back to life. Sirius swore loudly and pointed his wand at the frog before it could leap out the kitchen window. It croaked once, and Sirius Vanished it. Harry hastily tried to scoop up toadstools while Lily dug a cardboard box out from a cupboard. James handed the woozy Neville off to Picksie so he could help collect toadstools. The challenging part was not only grabbing them, but keeping them in the box once they’d been collected. They liked to leap out.

“Don’t Stun them,” Lily snapped at Sirius as a red spark shot from his wand. “They’re no good in potions once they’ve been Stunned!”

“Then Picksie can make us a nice mushroom soup instead,” Sirius snapped back, tossing the Stunned toadstool onto the counter. “Are they really worth this trouble?”

“Usually you take the box with you when you harvest them.” Lily wrangled another mushroom into the box and glared at James.

“It was an impulse decision!” James’s glasses fell off his face as he dove under the kitchen table after one of the toadstools. “Neville said they looked ready to harvest, and I thought he was right.”

“They were ready alright,” Harry grunted. He grabbed one in each hand and shoved them into the box Lily guarded.

The kitchen fireplace suddenly roared to life with green flame.

Harry let a toadstool slip out of his hands as he looked at his watch. “It’s eleven already?”

“Dammit — For Merlin’s sake —” Lily snatched a mushroom mid-leap and shoved it back into the box.

“Picksie, can you — ow!” James hit his head against the table as he tried to crawl out from under it.

Out from the green flames and into the chaos of the kitchen stepped Albus Dumbledore.

If Dumbledore was surprised to see Neville unconscious on the kitchen floor while the Potters, Sirius, and Picksie scrambled around the kitchen catching Leaping Toadstools, he did not show it. Behind his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes betrayed only the smallest glimpse of amusement as he said, “It seems I’ve caught you at a bad time.”

Sirius lunged for a Leaping Toadstool that had managed to get on the counter and was making a jump for the open kitchen window. “Could be worse.”

James rubbed at a growing lump on the back of his head. “Can we get you anything to drink?”

Dumbledore’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Even in the darkest of times your hospitality shines bright. I shall do my best not to intrude for too long.”

Harry snatched up the last of the toadstools and stuffed it into the box. Hastily, Lily closed the box flaps and used her wand to seal it. It still rattled as the contents bounced against its walls.

“Those will be fun to chop.” Lily took in a few deep breaths and pulled her hair back. “So sorry about the mess. Harry, are you ready to go?”

Harry got to his feet and dusted the knees of his trousers. “I guess?” He looked to Dumbledore. “What will I need? My wand?”

“It would be unwise to travel without one, yes,” Dumbledore said. Picksie handed him a glass of water. “Ah, thank you.” He took a seat at the kitchen table. “And, Harry, I would advise you to bring along that wonderful cloak of yours. It might come in handy.”

Lily shot a glare at James. “You mean the cloak he wasn’t supposed to inherit until he turned seventeen?”

James grimaced. “Now is probably not the time.”

“If you don’t mind,” Dumbledore said, “I’d like very much for Harry to keep the cloak with him at school. I think it will come in handy while he is at Hogwarts.”

“It has so far,” Harry said, though it was probably not the smartest thing to say in front of his mother, who knew only a fraction of the trouble Harry had gotten into with the cloak, and that alone was enough to make her wish he’d never had it. “But,” he added quickly, “won’t you guys need it?” he turned to Lily and James. “You’re the ones who will be fighting — I’ll be away at school.”

James shook his head, then winced and pressed his hand to the growing knot beneath his hair. “It’s your cloak Harry. You keep it.”

“Besides,” Lily said, “if Dumbledore says you need it, then he’s probably right.”

Dumbledore shrugged. “I have been known to make mistakes.”

Sirius snorted. “Few and far between.”

“Right,” Harry said. “I’ll just get my cloak then.”

Harry hurried upstairs to his bedroom, careful to avoid setting off the alarm on the fourth step. His trunk was half-unpacked. Clothes had been removed, but textbooks, parchment, and quills still lay in the trunk, a chaos born of a hasty packing at the end of the year. It took him a while to rescue the cloak from beneath his stack of Transfiguration textbooks.

With his wand in the back pocket of his jeans and his cloak in his arms, Harry headed back downstairs. Before he reached the kitchen, he found the two escaped Leaping Toadstools trying their best to hop up the china cabinet in the dining room. Harry snatched them just before they leaped out of his reach.

Neville sat at the kitchen table, looking embarrassed but altogether recovered from his fainting fit. Dumbledore sat beside him and politely thanked Picksie as she handed him a glass of mead. James still held the bottle, and was filling three more glasses. He smiled at Harry.

“One more for you?”

Harry grinned back. “Sure.”

Lily frowned and took one of the glasses from James. “You’re still fifteen. No.”

“Only for two more weeks.”

“Then maybe in a year and two weeks you can have one.”

Sirius reached for one of the glasses. “James and I drank plenty of firewhisky when we were fifteen. We turned out just fine.”

Lily pursed her lips, like she might argue this point, then the humor in her eyes sharpened as she watched Dumbledore drink. “What’s happened to your hand?”

Dumbledore’s smile was unusual sheepish as he lifted his right hand. His robes slipped and revealed black, decaying flesh, clinging to a bony hand. Neville gasped loudly and Harry’s stomach turned, more violently than it had during the frog dissection. It reminded Harry quite vividly of a dementor’s bony, undead hand, and he guessed by Lily’s pale face, she too, recalled a warm summer night she and Harry had been ambushed by dementors.

“This,” Dumbledore said, “is the result of one of my mistakes. It is quite alright now, though. Severus has seen to it.”

“Would you like me to take a look?” Sirius asked, in a tone that conveyed exactly what he thought of Severus Snape.

“Thank you, but there is no need,” Dumbledore said.

“That’s got to be quite the story,” James said. “I’d like to know which Death Eater did it.”

“It’s a thrilling tale, truly.” Dumbledore took a sip of his mead, and set the empty glass on the table. “I would love to do it its proper justice, but I’ve no desire to keep Harry any later than I need to. The sooner we depart, the sooner we may return. And, if I recall, it is a fair walk to the Apparition Point outside your property.”

“We never lifted the protection charms after Regulus Black escaped Azkaban,” James said. “Sorry.”

“There’s no need for an apology. I think it was a prescient decision, considering the times that have followed. Well, Harry, shall we?”

Harry hastily finished his tea, though it was nearly hot enough to burn his tongue. “Yep.”

“Bye, Harry,” said Neville.

“Be careful,” said Lily.

“And safe,” added James.

“You’ll be with Dumbledore,” Sirius said. “That’s the safest place to be, really.”

“Thanks.” Harry let Lily give him a kiss on the cheek, and hugged both Sirius and James goodbye, before leaving through the kitchen door.

The summer night air was warm and humid. Harry enjoyed walking through his family’s property. Most of his childhood had been spent running through the groves, picnicking by the lake, or flying a broom across the garden. He’d been able to spend some time with his father, and Neville, working in the garden this past week. He liked learning about the different plants his family grew, though sometimes it felt like James was only teaching him because this might be his last chance to do so. It was hard not to think that each time he carefully pruned back the Roaring Roses or weeded the ground around Weeping Willow that this summer could be the last summer they were all together. In just two months, Harry would return to school and his parents would return to the front lines of a war.

“Thank you, Harry, for indulging me in this errand.”

“Er — of course, Professor.” Harry tried to banish his fears of the war, at least for the moment. Sirius was right — there was no safer place to be than with Dumbledore. “Though I’m afraid I don’t know what exactly we’re doing.”

“I’ll explain in a moment. Firstly, I’d like to ask about your scar. Your parents have told me in their letters that it hasn’t hurt. Is that true?”

Harry was startled to realize that Dumbledore thought Harry might have lied to James and Lily. He supposed there was some basis for that, but the assumption sort of hurt. 

“It really hasn’t,” Harry said. “Actually, I thought it would hurt more, you know, if Voldemort is getting more powerful.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Interesting. I imagined quite the opposite. You see, Lord Voldemort has finally realized the dangerous access to his thoughts and feelings you have been enjoying. It appears that he is now employing Occlumency against you.”

Harry thought of how Voldemort had manipulated that very connection against him last year. It had served Harry and the Order in small ways, and saved Arthur Weasley’s life, but in the end, Voldemort had used it to lure Harry to the Department of Mysteries, where several of Harry’s friends and family had nearly died.

“Well, I’m not complaining.” Harry was grateful for the closed connection, and grateful he would no longer feel unusual jolts of pleasure or anger in his History of Magic class that had nothing to do with goblin revolutions.

“No, I can’t imagine you would. I do believe I owe you an apology. I am afraid I asked too much of you when I had Professor Snape teach you Occlumency.”

Harry flushed with embarrassment. His lessons with Snape had culminated with him accidentally letting Voldemort know that Snape loved Lily. It had led to Snape being tortured mercilessly at Voldemort’s hands in an effort to lure Harry to London. “I know I messed up — I put Snape in danger, and I am sorry, really.”

“ _Professor_ Snape told me you apologized to him directly. I imagine that was not an easy thing to do.”

“No. I almost didn’t, but it was my fault in the end. It was my fault he was tortured, my fault my parents got hurt, and my friends almost died, and Remus and Sirius are fighting again —” Harry had not meant to spill his problems onto Dumbledore so suddenly, but he had not felt he could share any of this with his parents or Sirius. His guilt was so tangible it hurt to speak aloud, and apologizing did not make it easier, as he had hoped it might.

“Even great men make mistakes.” There was a weight to Dumbledore’s words that stirred something in Harry, like Dumbledore knew the exact guilt Harry felt right now. “Great men make powerful decisions, and they do not always get it right. Asking for forgiveness can be hard, and giving it to ourselves even harder. It is the good, not the great, who can admit their mistakes and seek reparations.”

Harry, eager to turn the conversation away from such emotional currents, searched for a light-hearted joke to diffuse his guilt.

“That sounds like something Uncle Remus would say.”

A faint smile curled in Dumbledore’s beard. “Where do you think Remus learned it from?” But his smile faded away fairly quickly. “I do not mean to reprimand you for what happened between you and Professor Snape. I only meant to apologize for my own failing. I should have taught you Occlumency directly, but I hoped to keep Voldemort from pursuing you by keeping my distance. It was a mistake, and I hope you can forgive me.”

“Yeah — of course. You couldn’t have known I would look in the Pensieve and mess everything up.”

“You are the child of James and Lily. You possess a tremendous curiosity and a sense of justice stronger than most. Do you not recall what happened when I accidentally left you alone with the Pensieve?”

Harry searched for an excuse or counter argument, but he found none. “I — I guess so. I don’t blame you for my terrible Occlumency lessons, Professor. And I know I made a mistake looking in the Pensieve, but — er, I mean, I really shouldn’t have.”

Dumbledore’s smile was knowing. “Information has its uses, no matter how ill obtained. I will not judge you for using what you have learned.”

“I just mean, I don’t know — I’m glad to know Snape loved my mom. It helps me understand why he and my dad don’t get on, and I know he’s the one who told Voldemort the prophecy in the first place, but if him loving her is what made him turn good, then that love is a good thing, right?”

Dumbledore was quiet for a few paces. His eyes were fixed on the horizon in front of them, and Harry noticed he held his wand in his hand, almost as if he were walking into a duel. Finally, he said, “Love may take many forms. It can destroy us or raise us to new heights. What it does, most of all, is change us, and change the world around us. We decide what that change will be. Professor Snape has allowed his love to do as much damage as good. His love for your mother has made him braver than perhaps even he knew he could be. The work he has done for the Order has been incredibly difficult and incredibly valuable. The tasks ahead of him are even harder. But he has let his love for Lily destroy a relationship he could have with James, or with you, or even with your mother. What I mean to say, Harry, is that love alone will not make you good. It will change us, certainly, because love is wild and uncontrollable, but what we do with it will make all the difference.”

Harry, probably better than most wizards, knew how powerful love could be. Love had saved his life more than once. It had shaped his life in incredible ways. From Peter Pettigrew standing between his family and Voldemort, to his parents, rushing to the Department of Mysteries to save him. His entire life was built on love, and that was what gave him power.

Harry decided to make the conscious effort to let his love for his parents drive him to do better and be better, rather than let guilt tear him away from them.

“That makes a lot of sense,” he said.

“I find that true of my words quite often. Ah — we have arrived, it seems.”

They had, indeed, reached the crumbling stone wall that marked the edge of the Potter’s property.

“It was quite the invigorating walk,” Dumbledore said. “And thank you, Harry, for the stimulating conversation. Now it has come time for the short part of our journey. My left side, if you don’t mind.”

Harry took Dumbledore’s left arm and with a pop they Disapparated.

They reappeared in a small town square, not unlike Stinchcombe, which Harry had visited with his family on several occasions. There were some benches and a statue, a memorial of some sort, but Harry did not have much familiarity with Muggle history to know what it was a memorial to. Dumbledore led Harry past a dark inn and a handful of small houses, out of the town center and into a cluster of homes. 

“Where are we?” Harry asked.

“We have Apparated into the charming village of Budleigh Babberton.”

“What’s here? You said it was for Hogwarts business, right?”

“Yes. You see, as it has so often happened, I seem to find myself one staff member short. We are here to persuade an old colleague of mine to come out of retirement and return to Hogwarts.”

“What can I do to help with that?”

“I think all I shall need is for you to be yourself — a shining example of what Hogwarts youths have to offer.”

“I’m afraid I’m not a very outstanding student, sir. I’ve had quite a few detentions over the years. You might have wanted to bring Hermione if you wanted a good student.”

Dumbledore searched Harry for a moment, as if checking to see if there was any sincerity in the statement, or if Harry was merely joking. He seemed satisfied with what he saw. “You have your father’s sense of humor, you know. He would have said the same of your mother.”

Harry’s ears burned. “I don’t — I don’t think of Hermione the way my parents —”

This time, Dumbledore actually laughed. “I did not mean to suggest so. I apologize for your discomfort. If I —”

As they rounded a corner, Dumbledore stopped suddenly. Harry nearly stumbled into him, but fell into the gate around the nearest house instead.

“Er — Professor —”

“Wands out, Harry. Follow closely, please.”

Harry looked up and saw what had Dumbledore so spooked. The house they had stopped in front of had clearly been broken into. The door hung off its hinges, and broken glass littered the garden beneath the windows, glittering off the light of the waning moon.

Harry stayed on Dumbledore’s heels as Dumbledore led him up the footpath and into the front door. The house was dark, until Dumbledore lit his wand, casting a pale light around them. The destruction evident outside was just as clear inside. 

The grandfather clock in the hallway had fallen over and shattered. Harry stepped over the cracked clock face and followed Dumbledore into the sitting room. A piano had been scattered across the floor; its ivory pieces littered the torn carpet like scraps of parchment. Glass shards glinted in Dumbledore’s wand light. Some of the pieces must have belonged to dishware, but a lot of it seemed to have come from the chandelier that had fallen from the ceiling. Harry looked up to the golden chain still dangling above them and caught sight of thick, dark liquid splashed high on the walls.

Harry gulped.

“Not pretty, is it?” Dumbledore stepped around the chandelier and examined a couch that had been split in two. “Yes, it certainly looks as if something horrible has happened here.”

“Maybe there was a fight?” Harry suggested. “And they dragged him off?” He tried not to think that Dumbledore’s friend might be dead. There was no body, so surely he was alive somewhere.

“I don’t think so.” Dumbledore had moved on from the couch and was now looking at an overturned armchair.

“You mean he’s —?”

“Still here somewhere? Yes.” Dumbledore plunged his wand into the seat of the well-stuffed chair.

“Ouch!” said the chair.

“Good evening, Horace.” Dumbledore stepped back as the chair vanished. It was replaced by a large, bald old man with a thick mustache that reminded Harry of a walrus. He was as stuffed, if not perhaps more stuffed, than the armchair. He rubbed his round stomach and cast an irritated glance at Dumbledore.

“There was no need to stick the wand in that hard,” he grunted. “It hurt.” He adjusted the tie of his thick velvet robe. “What gave me away?” He looked more irritated than embarrassed to have been caught.

“My dear Horace, if the Death Eaters really had come to call, the Dark Mark would have been set over the house.”

The wizard grunted again. “Knew there was something… ah well. Wouldn’t have had time anyway. I’d only just put the finishing touches to my upholstery when you entered the room.” 

“Would you like my assistance cleaning up?”

“Please.” As he let out a heavy sigh, his large mustache flopped around his face, reminding Harry of a horse or even Hagrid’s very large dog, Fang. 

Together, Dumbledore and the man waved their wands. The piano put itself back together, the chandelier returned to the ceiling, and the furniture snapped back to its rightful place. Harry turned and watched the grandfather clock pick itself back up. Rips in curtains, tears in carpet, and cracks in wood stitched themselves back together. The blood on the wall vanished.

“What kind of blood was that, incidentally?” Dumbledore asked.

“On the walls? Dragon. My last bottle, and prices are sky-high at the moment. Still, it might be reusable.” He waved his wand one more time and summoned a tiny bottle. The crystal stopper refracted Dumbledore’s wandlight into tiny rainbows across the ceiling and walls where the blood and just been. The dragonblood moved slowly as he stirred it. “Hm. Bit dusty.” As he set the bottle down, he realized that Dumbledore was not alone. His irritation cleared into wonder, and then sheer excitement as his eyes landed on Harry’s forehead.

Harry was familiar with people staring at the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. Their reactions ranged, but wonder and excitement were common. It always made Harry uncomfortable, because he’d never felt like he’d done anything impressive. He’d been an infant when Voldemort gave him that scar. It was his parents and Peter Pettigrew who had done the impressive part.

But Harry had never seen anyone react to his scar with the excitement that this man had. This man was thrilled the way Harry had been thrilled to see a Firebolt in a shop window. This man coveted Harry’s scar. Harry shifted his weight from one foot to another, wishing he could walk away.

Dumbledore, as if he sensed Harry’s discomfort, placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed it gently, not unlike Lily or James would do when introducing Harry to someone who was more entranced by the scar than the young man it was attached to.

“This,” Dumbledore said, “is Harry Potter. Harry, this is an old friend and colleague of mine, Horace Slughorn.”

Slughorn’s excitement returned to the sulky petulance Harry had seen on him since they’d began this conversation and he glared at Dumbledore. “So that’s how you thought you’d persuade me, is it? Well, the answer’s no, Albus.”

Now, as he took the crystal bottle of dragon’s blood and returned it to a large trunk, he looked like he was trying very hard to restrain himself. Harry remembered that feeling, knowing he shouldn’t ask for a Firebolt but wanting it anyway. He didn’t understand what it was Horace Slughorn wanted, though.

“I suppose we can have a drink, at least?” Dumbledore asked. “For old time’s sake?”

Slughorn grumbled and closed the trunk. “Alright, one drink.”

Slughorn turned on a tableside oil lamp and Dumbledore lit a fire in the fireplace. He motioned for Harry to take a seat by the fire, and Harry could not help but feel that he was on display. He was the Firebolt in this scenario. Harry now understood why Dumbledore had brought him over Hermione. Hermione was a good student, but Harry was legendary. He didn’t know why that appealed to Slughorn, but it clearly did.

Slughorn poured a honey-colored liquor from a decanter into three crystal glasses. He handed Harry his quickly, like he was afraid to get too close, and once he had given Dumbledore a glass, he sank into the very plush sofa. He took up quite a bit of it, and his short legs did not even reach the floor.

Harry looked at the glass, remembering how only hours earlier his mother had refused to let him drink mead. A combination of a rebellious spirit and simple curiosity encouraged Harry to take a sip. He tried very hard to keep his face still as it burned, and he wondered if this was a glass of Firewhisky or if all alcohol burned this way. He’d tried his mother’s wine once, and he hadn’t cared for that, either. Once the burning cleared, though, he was left with a sweet aftertaste. Wine certainly hadn’t done that. Harry took another sip.

“How have you been keeping, Horace?” asked Dumbledore.

Slughorn grunted. “Not so well. Weak chest. Wheezy. Rheumatism, too. Can’t move like I used to. Well, that’s to be expected. Old age. Fatigue.”

Harry got the sense that Slughorn liked to complain.

“And yet,” Dumbledore said, “you must have moved fairly quickly to prepare such a welcome for us at such short notice. You can’t have had more than three minutes’ warning?”

He continued his complaint, but he looked impressed with himself at Dumbledore’s praise. “Two. Didn’t hear my Intruder Charm go off. I was taking a bath. Still — the fact remains I’m an old man, Albus. A tired old man who’s earned the right to a quiet life and a few creature comforts.”

Comfort, indeed, this house had. Plush chairs, a wide variety of liquor in crystal decanters, books stacked on tables, plush pillows, his velvet bathrobe and the silk pajamas peeking out from beneath it — Slughorn indulged himself without hesitation.

“You’re not yet as old as I am, Horace.”

“Maybe you ought to think about retirement yourself.” Slughorn took another sip of his glass and his eyes fell on Dumbledore’s blackened hand. “Reactions not what they were, I see.”

“You’re quite right.” Dumbledore shook back his sleeve and revealed the damage quite plainly. “I am undoubtedly slower than I was. But, on the other hand….” Dumbledore spread his hands, as if to say that the benefits of his age spoke for themselves. As he swept his uninjured hand towards the fire, Harry noticed Dumbledore wore an unusual ring. The gold band appeared unrefined, as if it had been made by an amateur, and the large black stone set in the band was cracked down the middle. Scratches had been etched in the stone, as if perhaps it had taken several attempts to break through it.

Harry was not the only one who lingered on this ring. He saw that Slughorn was staring very intensely at it, too. Harry got the impression that Slughorn, though a seemingly fussy old man who liked to indulge himself, was incredibly shrewd and observant.

“All these precautions against intruders, Horace,” Dumbledore said, settling his hands on the armrests of his chair once more, “are they for the Death Eaters’ benefit or mine?”

Slughorn tore his eyes away from the ring. “What would the Death Eaters want with a poor, broken-down old buffer like me?”

“I imagine that they would want you to turn your considerable talents to coercion, torture, and murder. Are you really telling me that they haven’t come recruiting yet?”

“Haven’t given them the chance,” Slughorn grumbled. “I’ve been on the move for a year. Never stay in one place more than a week. Move from Muggle house to Muggle house — the owners of this place are on holiday in the Canary Islands — it’s been very pleasant. I’ll be sorry to leave. It’s quite easy once you know how. One simple Freezing Charm on these absurd burglar alarms they use instead of Sneakoscope and make sure the neighbors don’t spot you bringing in the piano.”

“Ingenious, but it sounds rather tiring for a broken-down old buffer in search of a quiet life. But if you were to return to Hogwarts —”

“If you’re going to tell me my life would have been more peaceful at that pestilential school, you can save your breath, Albus! I might have been in hiding, but some funny rumors have reached me since Dolores Umbridge left! If that’s how you treat teachers these days —”

“Professor Umbridge ran afoul of the centaur herd. I think you, Horace, would have known better than to stride into the forest and call a crowd of angry centaurs, ‘filthy half-breeds.’”

“That’s what she did, did she? Idiotic woman. Never liked her.”

Harry could not help but laugh. When Dumbledore and Slughorn looked at him, Harry buried his face in his glass. “Sorry —” he coughed when the drink burned “— but I never liked her either.”

Dumbledore stood. “Horace, might I use your bathroom?”

Slughorn looked disappointed Dumbledore had not stood up to leave. “Second on the left, down the hall.”

As Dumbledore left, Slughorn’s gaze fell on Harry. He seemed to take him in for the first time, not simply the scar and his name, and all that came with it, but to truly look at Harry.

“Don’t think I don’t know why he’s brought you.”

Harry, who could not deny Dumbledore’s intentions, was unsure what to say.

“You look very like your father.”

Harry smiled. “Yeah — I’ve heard that.”

“Except for your eyes. You’ve got your mother’s eyes.”

“I’ve heard that, too.”

“How are James and Lily these days?”

“They’re good.” Harry wasn’t sure if he should mention his father had lost an eye and his mother still limited her diet to the most bland of foods. 

Slughorn stood and approached the fire, warming first his hands, then turned to warm his behind. “You shouldn’t have favorites as a teacher, of course, but she was one of mine — Lily, I mean. She was Lily Evans then. One of the brightest I’ve ever taught. Vivacious, charming girl. I used to tell her she ought to have been in my House. Very cheeky answers I used to get back, too.”

Harry, whose mother had spent his last five years of school admonishing him to treat his teachers more respectfully, was surprised to learn this. He felt he didn’t need to ask, but he did anyway. “Which was your House?”

“I was Head of Slythern. Oh, now, don’t you go holding that against me. You’ll be like her, I suppose? Gryffindor? Yes, it usually goes in families. Not always. Sirius Black, you’ll know, your father’s good friend. His whole family had been in my House, but Sirius ended up in Gryffindor! Shame — he was a talented boy. I got his brother Regulus, when he came along, but I’d have liked the set.”

Harry knew Sirius and Regulus had gone to opposing houses, but it felt strange to hear a teacher speak so highly of Sirius. Most criticized Sirius’s trouble-making when they talked about Sirius as a student. Slughorn seemed more interested in Sirius’s family and talents than his qualities as a student.

“Your mother, though, excellent witch. Absolutely brilliant. Couldn’t believe she was Muggle-born. I’d thought she must have been pure-blood, she was so talented.”

“One of my best friends is Muggle-born. She’s the best in our year.”

“Funny how that happens sometimes, isn’t it?”

Harry was beginning to like Slughorn less and less and learning he preferred Blacks to Muggle-borns was the last straw. “Not really.”

“Oh —” Slughorn looked surprised by Harry’s tone. “You mustn’t think I’m prejudiced! No, no, no! Haven’t I just said Lily was one of my all time favorite students? And there was Dirk Cresswell in the year after her, too — now Head of the Goblin Liaison Office, of course — another Muggle-born, a very gifted student, and still gives me excellent inside information on the goings-on at Gringotts!” Slughorn gestured to the piano. Now that it was repaired, it was covered in photographs of people smiling and waving. Slughorn walked over and Harry, unsure what else to do, got up and followed.

“All ex-students, all signed. You’ll notice Baranbas Cuffe, editor of the _Daily Prophet_ , he’s always interested to hear my take on the day’s news. And Ambrosius Flume, of Honydukes — a hamper every birthday, and all because I was able to give him an introduction to Ciceron Harkiss, who gave him his first job! And at the back — you’ll see her if you just crane your neck — that’s Gwenog Jones, who of course captains the Holyhead Harpies…. People are always astonished to hear I’m on first-name terms with the Harpies, and free tickets whenever I want them!”

Harry listened politely. He did find each of these people impressive in their own way, but it was strange to hear the thrill in Slughorn’s voice as he talked about each of them. He seemed proud of their accomplishments, but he seemed more proud of his connections to accomplished people than having much interest in the people themselves.

“And all these people know where to find you, to send you stuff?” Harry asked. If the Death Eaters had not been able to track Slughorn down, Harry wondered that Gwenog Jones knew where to send tickets.

Slughorn’s excitement faded. “Of course not. I’ve been out of touch with everybody for a year.” He stroked his thick mustache, considering his own words. After a moment, he shrugged. “The prudent wizard keeps his head down in such times. All very well for Dumbledore to talk, but taking up a post at Hogwarts just now would be tantamount to declaring my public allegiance to the Order of the Phoenix! And while I’m sure they’re very admirable and brave and all the rest of it, I don’t personally fancy the mortality rate —”

Harry could not keep his irritation out of his voice. “You don’t have to join the Order to teach at Hogwarts.” His parents and their friends had put themselves at risk not just once, but twice to fight against Voldemort and keep Harry safe. Harry was counting down the days until he could join himself. He had no patience for this man who hid in comfort. “Most of the teacher’s aren’t even in it, and no teacher’s ever been killed — except Quirrell, but he had Voldemort’s soul attached to him.”

Slughorn went very pale and grunted in protest at Harry’s use of the Voldemort’s name. Harry did not care.

“I reckon the staff are safer than most people while Dumbledore’s headmaster; he’s supposed to be the only one Voldemort ever feared, isn’t he?”

Slughorn’s hand trembled as he stroked his mustache. He still seemed very shaken by Harry’s blunt use of Voldemort’s name, but he did ponder Harry’s words. “It is true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has never sought a fight with Dumbledore. I suppose one could argue that as I have not joined the Death Eaters, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can hardly count me as a friend… in which case, I might well be safer a little closer to Albus. I cannot pretend that the attack on Amelia Bones did not shake me. If even she, with all her Ministry contacts and protection….”

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Amelia Bones was Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There really could not have been a better duelist. Her attack had nothing to do with Ministry connections and everything to do with Voldemort’s cruelty. But before he could open his mouth and criticize Slughorn further, Dumbledore returned.

“Well, Harry, we have trespassed upon Horace’s hospitality quite long enough; I think it is time for us to leave.”

Harry eagerly started for the door.

Slughorn, strangely, looked disappointed. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes, indeed. I think I know a lost cause when I see one.”

“Lost…?”

Dumbledore retrieved his traveling coat from the chair he had been sitting in and fastened it over his shoulders. “I am sorry you don’t want the job, Horace. Hogwarts would have been glad to see you back. Our greatly increased security notwithstanding, you will always be welcome to visit, should you wish to.”

“Yes, well — very gracious… as I say….”

“Good-bye then.”

Harry followed Dumbledore to the door, but as Dumbledore’s hand closed around the handle, Slughorn shouted after them.

“Alright, alright, I’ll do it!”

Dumbledore turned, eyebrows raised. “You will come out of retirement?”

“Yes, yes. I must be mad, but yes.”

“Wonderful! Then, Horace, we shall see you on the first of September.”

“Yes, I daresay you will.”

Harry could not decide if he was particularly happy Dumbledore’s errand had succeeded. Though Harry had had a variety of Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, he could not picture Slughorn among them. If anything, he was a bit like Gilderoy Lockhart, who was little more than a fraud, so Lily had replaced him. Harry wondered if he could convince his dad or Sirius to take over for Slughorn.

Just as Harry and Dumbledore reached the garden gate, Slughorn shouted again, “I’ll want a pay rise, Dumbledore!”

Dumbledore laughed and led Harry back through the quaint village of Budleigh Babberton. Once they had Apparated back to the edge of Styncon Garden, Dumbledore said, “Well done, Harry.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh, you did. You showed Horace exactly how much he stands to gain by returning to Hogwarts. Did you like him?”

“Er.” Harry was afraid to criticize Dumbledore’s friend. Luckily, Dumbledore did not press him.

“Horace likes his comfort. He also likes the company of the famous, the successful, and the powerful. He enjoys feeling that he influences these people. He has never wanted to occupy the throne himself; he prefers the backseat — more room to spread out, you see. He used to handpick favorites at Hogwarts, sometimes for their ambition or their brains, sometimes for their charm or their talent, and he had an uncanny knack for choosing those who would go on to become outstanding in their various fields. Horace formed a kind of club of his favorites with himself at the center, making introductions, forging useful contacts between members, and always reaping some kind of benefit in return, whether a free box of his favorite crystalized pineapple or the chance to recommend the next junior member of the Goblin Liaison Office. I tell you all this not to turn you against Horace — or as we must now call him, Professor Slughorn — but to put you on your guard. He will undoubtedly try to collect you, Harry. You would be the jewel of his collection; ‘the Boy Who Lived’ or, as they are calling you these days, ‘the Chosen One.’”

Harry frowned. “Mum and Dad hate that title.”

“You can see why I was hesitant to share with them the details of the errand. Your parents have worked very hard to protect you from people like Slughorn. People who would use you, seek to influence you, simply for their own gain.”

“Not that it matters much now.” Harry kicked at a rock in the dirt path as they walked back to the house. “Every wizard knows what I am —”

“No, Harry. Firstly, your mother would be rightly cross with me if I did not remind you that _what_ you are is very different from _who_ you are, and one of those things matters far more than the other. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded, but knowing something was true and feeling it was true were very different things.

“Secondly, the full contents of the prophecy are known only to those whom I have told and you have told.”

“I haven’t told anyone.”

“And wisely so, I should think. What I mean to say, I told your parents and your godfather of the prophecy and they have told you. That is the full extent of how far the prophecy has traveled. What the rest of the world may speculate is only that — speculation.”

“My parents told Uncle Remus.”

Dumbledore did not look surprised to learn this, but he did look thoughtful. “Your parents are brave and exceptionally strong. They have borne this burden for quite some time. It is not an easy thing to be told your unborn child must kill or be killed.”

Harry swallowed down a lump in his throat. 

“But your parents have not carried these burdens alone. They have trusted their friends. They have shared their fears during these past years not only with myself, but with Lupin and Sirius as well. I have just said it was wise of you to keep the prophecy and its contents to yourself. It would be remiss to share it haphazardly, and increase the likelihood that the full contents reach the ears of Voldemort. However, like your parents, I recommend you find people you can trust. You cannot bear this burden alone, no matter how brave or strong you are.”

“You mean I should tell Ron, Hermione, and Neville?”

“I simply mean you should rely on friends of your own. As your parents have relied on Lupin and Sirius, you should choose your own support. Only you can decide who that will be. It could even be your parents, and you share the prophecy with no one else. Though, am I right to suspect you have not confided your own concerns about it in them?”

“I — I’m not concerned about the prophecy….”

“Harry, much like your father, you are a supremely terrible liar.”

“I just mean — I talked with Firenze about prophecies last year, before I even knew what the prophecy really was. And what he said made sense — they’re kind of inevitable not just because they were said, but because they just are. I know I’d fight against Voldemort whether it had been prophesied or not. He’s evil, and he hurts people, and I know I wouldn’t do nothing, even if there wasn’t a prophecy. I want to fight, not just because of what he’s done to my family but because he keeps hurting people. Chosen One or not, I want to fight.”

Dumbledore allowed Harry a moment of silence as they walked before prompting, “But?”

“I — I don’t know. It’s like you said, kill or be killed — that’s hard. I don’t want to kill someone, even if it is Voldemort. But I don’t want him to kill me. And I don’t want him to kill people I care about as he tries to kill me. You said I need to rely on people, but maybe it’d be better if I didn’t. Maybe if I just went after Voldemort alone…. Mum and Dad would probably kill me first if I tried that.” Harry laughed, If he had learned anything from his parents, it was that humor could diffuse just about any tension.

Dumbledore’s face, however, remained solemn. “There is no shame in admitting to being frightened. We are brave where we need to be, and it is alright to be afraid when we cannot be brave. It is alright to ask someone to lend us bravery. Your parents love each other dearly, of course, but I believe one of their greatest strengths is the way they lend bravery to each other. You, Harry, need someone you can ask for bravery.”

Harry remembered the few times he had seen his parents’ bravery fail them. Lily, when she had desperately tried to protect Harry from Tom Riddle’s diary, and collapsed against James when it was all over. Or when she had faced a dementor alone for the first time, weighed down with all the fears of Voldemort’s return. James, too, had broken more than once. His brief time in Azkaban, being brave for Remus, had left him shattered. Then, learning that Voldemort had taken and tortured Harry in a graveyard, and having to sit with Harry, alone, while Harry recounted the horrors he and Cedric had faced — James had comforted Harry, but Harry had seen the fear in James’s face, the panic that had not faded until Lily joined him again.

Harry did not have anyone in his life that he trusted the way his parents trusted each other. He had not really considered this a problem. But he remembered how quick Hermione, Ron, and Neville had been to join him in his quest to the Ministry. Ginny, Luna, Cedric, Amber, and Pearl, too, had refused to let him fight alone. Having them with him had made Harry feel brave. 

“On a different subject,” Dumbledore said, after a lengthy silence, “it is my wish that you take private lessons with me this coming year.”

Harry looked up at Dumbledore in surprise. “Private — like Occlumency?”

“We will not be doing much Occlumency, as I’m sure you will not be terribly upset by.”

“No, not really. What will we be doing?”

“A little of this, a little of that. I should ask two things of you, though, before we part.”

The house had just come into view, with the kitchen light still on. Harry wondered who was sitting awake at the table, waiting for his safe return. It could have been anyone in his family. He hoped it wasn’t everyone.

Dumbledore slowed his pace and Harry struggled to fall back into step alongside him.

“Firstly, Harry, I do not wish to ask you to keep secrets from your parents. I know the trust you have with them has been hard-earned. I would not ask you to break it. I should warn you, however, they may not be over-pleased by these lessons. You have already mentioned your parents’ distaste at the idea of you as ‘The Chosen One.’ They may not take kindly to the idea that I am providing you with a unique education.”

“Do you mean you’re going to teach me to fight Voldemort?”

“I only mean to ask that you use your best discretion when you speak to your parents about our lessons. I should not like to receive any Howlers from your mother this year.”

“Have you received Howlers from her before?”

“Twice. And secondly, I wish for you to keep your Invisibility Cloak with you at all times from this moment onward. Even within Hogwarts itself. Just in case. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” Dumbledore resumed the brisk pace they had begun their journey with and walked Harry to the door of his home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated!


	5. An Excess of Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets his O.W.L.s and some unexpected birthday presents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's a week late. It's uh... 20,500 words so.... take your time?
> 
> Special thanks to beta's: ageofzero, whose been helping me with this series almost since its inception; my cousin aubs, who took some time to read this chapter despite recovering from surgery; my dear friend ccboomer, who reads this work even tho she vows not to read incomplete works; and magic713, who helped beta this ridiculously lengthy chapter with a 24-hour turnaround and I'm so impressed
> 
> And of course thank you to all of you! I wouldn't be writing this without you.

Harry pushed open the door to the kitchen and found everyone exactly where he had left them; James, Lily, Sirius, and Neville all greeted Harry and Dumbledore with relieved smiles. Harry checked his wristwatch. It was nearly three in the morning. 

“You’re still awake?”

“Of course,” Lily said.

James stood and poured a glass of water. “We got the alert that you’d crossed back onto the property line. Figured we’d make sure you made it safely to the door.”

“Thanks.” Harry took the glass of water his father handed him and drank gratefully. The walk across Styncon Garden, while not strenuous, was lengthy. 

“Dumbledore?” James poured another glass of water.

“No, thank you. I mean to return to Hogwarts quickly.” Dumbledore tipped his hat. “But perhaps I could use your fireplace to make the journey.”

“Of course.” Lily stood and pulled a jar of Floo Powder from the mantle. She held the open jar out to Dumbledore. “Was your errand successful?”

“Quite,” Dumbledore said. “Horace Slughorn will be returning to Hogwarts, and I am grateful to have a full staff once more.”

“Slughorn?” Sirius sputtered out. “You’re hiring him again?”

“Yes, Sirius.” Dumbledore took a pinch of powder from the jar. “I daresay he is a fine teacher.”

Lily snorted, but Harry couldn’t tell if it was at Sirius’s comment or Dumbledore’s. “Sirius, did you even like any of your teachers?”

“I liked McGonagall.”

“Sure, about once in a blue moon,” James laughed. “Though I do recall you being rather fond of our vampiric Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

“I wouldn’t say fond,” Lily said. “I think Sirius was rather infatuated.”

Harry and Neville shared a laugh as Sirius turned red.

“By the way,” James said, as Dumbledore took a pinch of Floo Powder from Lily, “have you had a report from Remus?” 

Dumbledore’s smile was polite, but impassive. “I’ve heard from him, yes. He’s managed to make contact with a fairly tight-knit community of werewolves. It is a good start.”

“Last time,” James tried to keep an even tone it was edged with anger regardless, “Remus always came home for the full moon. He would still spend it with us, even when you had him working up north.”

“I have not given Remus any direction about how to spend the full moon. It’s entirely his decision.”

James remained unconvinced, but Dumbledore did not give him a chance to press for more.

“Thank you, again, for your gracious hospitality,” Dumbledore said, “and for letting me borrow Harry. Do be careful, all of you.” He gave them a slight bow before disappearing into the roaring fireplace.

As the bright green flames returned to glowing orange embers, Lily stifled a yawn. “Well, Harry, what did you think of Professor Slughorn?”

Harry shrugged. “He said he remembered you all. He said you were one of his favorite students, Mum.”

She blushed and James stifled a laugh. Sirius snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

“He looks a bit like a walrus,” Harry added.

James did not hide his laugh this time, and even Lily covered a smile with her hand.

“It sounds like he hasn’t changed much,” James said.

“Was he a very strict teacher?” Neville asked.

Sirius’s laugh was so loud and abrupt that Neville jumped in surprise. Sirius tried to apologize, but he seemed to be unable to take a breath deep enough to speak in the middle of his laughing fit.

James laughed, too, though not so dramatically. “I wouldn’t call him strict, no.”

“Oh,” Lily said, “certainly not. It’s a good thing Fred and George won’t be at Hogwarts. They’d have a riot with him.”

“James and I certainly did,” Sirius said, and wiped away tears from laughing so hard. “We nicked all kinds of things from his classroom. I mean, everyone did, really.”

“I didn’t,” said Lily.

James raised his eyebrows. “No? I seem to recall going into the prefect’s bath one evening and finding —”

“No, no, no,” Harry interrupted. “I don’t want to know. I’m just going to go to bed and pretend I never heard any of this.”

Neville, red-faced, nodded and stood. “It’s really late.”

“Are you tired?” Lily asked, a bit of anxiety on her face as she looked at Neville. “I was afraid after that Hartshorn Aroma we used to revive you, you’d be up for hours.”

“Er — I’m a bit tired. I think.”

Sirius yawned and stretched. “I’ll do a walk around the house, reinforce some of the charms. Having Dumbledore here might have drawn some attention.”

“I’ll go with you,” Lily said. “Sleep well Neville, Harry.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Harry’s forehead before following Sirius out the kitchen door.

As the boys headed to bed, Harry reminded Neville to skip the fourth step, since Neville had accidentally set off the house’s faulty alarm system three times this week.

Traditionally, Harry had the upstairs floor to himself, and occasionally Remus or Sirius might use one of the spare bedrooms. This summer, however, Sirius was here more often than not, and another room temporarily belonged to Neville. Harry was not used to having to share the upstairs bathroom so frequently with so many. It reminded him a little of staying at Ron’s — though not nearly as crowded, of course.

Once upstairs, Harry turned to say goodnight to Neville, but stopped before the words had quite reached his tongue. He didn’t often get a moment alone with Neville, and he wondered if this would be his best chance to share the prophecy with trusted friends, as Dumbledore had encouraged Harry to do. Harry certainly valued Neville’s friendship, and he knew Neville would readily join the fight against Voldemort as soon as they were allowed into the Order, but as he searched for the right words to begin, it proved to be more challenging than he’d expected. 

Neville was, without a doubt, one of the bravest people Harry knew. Neville attended Potions class far more consistently than Harry did, even though Snape was Neville’s greatest fear. He’d faced Barty Crouch, Jr., even though Barty was one of the Death Eaters responsible for torturing his parents. And Neville had even joined Harry on the journey to the Department of Mysteries to save Snape without a second thought.

But the prophecy, as his mother had given to him, said the person to defeat Voldemort would be someone _“born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.”_ Surely Neville would see the connection Lily had seen all those years ago — that Frank and Alice Longbottom had defied Voldemort on three occasions and their son had been born, as had Harry, in the end of July.

Harry did not know if he could tell Neville that “The Chosen One” had very nearly been someone else. He also did not know how he would tell any of his friends that he, and he alone, was destined to kill Voldemort.

He had a new understanding of why his parents had failed to tell him the prophecy for so long.

“Everything alright, Harry?” Neville asked, and Harry realized he had been staring.

“Oh — yeah, just thinking about something Dumbledore said.” Dumbledore had suggested Harry ask for help being brave, but asking for this sort of help seemed more difficult. It meant Harry would put other people at risk, and he wasn’t sure he could do that. If the prophecy said Harry was the only one who could fight, was it alright to put others in danger?

“It’s nothing, really,” Harry finally said. “‘Night, Neville.”

“Good night, Harry.”

Harry turned the prophecy and his conversation with Dumbledore over as he got ready for bed. Dumbledore had asked him to find someone to lean on, the way his parents leaned on each other, or leaned on Sirius and Remus. 

He thought about tonight, when James had asked after Remus. The anger James had so poorly masked when talking to Dumbledore about Remus had reminded Harry of the anger James had displayed at the Quidditch World Cup. He realized it wasn’t just that Remus and Sirius supported his parents; his parents were just as much of a support for them.

Harry wondered if he was as good a friend to Neville, Ron, and Hermione as they would need to be to him, if he told them this prophecy. He honestly wasn’t sure.

When Harry crawled into bed, he felt properly exhausted, which was an achievement on its own. This summer, his brain felt too full to sleep properly, like a Muggle automobile engine that ran too long and stayed hot even when it was shut off. But tonight, between emotionally taxing conversations and a lengthy walk across the property, he was truly tired. Maybe tonight he’d even be too tired for nightmares of duels against Death Eaters, of his friends being tortured, or of facing Voldemort alone.

——————————✶✶✶——————————

Mellie had been the Potter family’s house-elf for generations. She’d raised four Potter boys, and kept a strict sleeping and eating schedule, not just for herself, but for the household. She insisted on rising with the sun and serving a three-course breakfast, then a late morning tea at ten, a lunch at noon, afternoon tea at three, a light dinner at six, and supper at eight. While the amount of food she served could be overwhelming, Harry had found that having so much time with his family — and Neville — to just talk was surprisingly pleasant. And if Alice, Frank, or Augusta Longbottom or anyone else in the Order came around to visit, Mellie had one meal or another ready to serve.

But since the family had been up so late last night, even Mellie didn’t complain when everyone filtered into the kitchen around noon.

Harry was the last one downstairs, woken by Neville — or possibly Sirius, though it was less likely — stepping on the fourth stair and setting off a loud alarm throughout the house. Harry supposed he shouldn’t be surprised; there was a staircase at school that you could sink into if you weren’t careful, and Neville fell into that one often enough.

“Morning,” Harry said, and took his usual seat at the kitchen table next to Neville.

“Bit later than morning,” James said with a small smile.

“Sleep alright?” Lily asked. Her smile was unusually strained, and she fidgeted with the napkin on her empty plate.

Harry thanked Mellie as she handed him breakfast. “Fine,” he said. His nightmares hadn’t been any more awful than usual. He wondered why his mother looked so anxious. Had something happened to someone in the Order?

Harry searched for a clue on Sirius’s face, but Sirius’s eyes were trained steadily on the door to the garden. He turned to his father, and James, too, looked a bit anxious. He stared at Harry, as if expecting something.

“Is everything alright?” Harry asked. He looked around the table once more. “You all look — I don’t know — worried.”

James slid a thin parchment envelope across the table. “You’ve had a letter.” 

Harry picked it up and turned it over, surprised to see the Ministry of Magic seal on the envelope. He wondered if Scrimgeour had grown tired of James and Lily turning down his request that Harry work with the Ministry, so he had written to Harry instead. He looked up and realized James had also handed a similar looking envelope to Neville. Why would the Minister be writing to Neville?

“What is it?”

“I think it must be our O.W.L. results,” Neville said. His voice trembled and the envelope shook in his hands.

Harry felt like all his blood suddenly decided it was better suited elsewhere and dropped from his head to his toes. His mouth went dry.

“Well, go on,” Lily said, her voice almost as nervous as Neville’s.

Carefully, Harry and Neville each broke the seal on the parchment and slid out the single sheet of paper detailing their O.W.L. results. Harry stared at the slip of parchment for a moment, eyes seeing letters but not interpreting them. He considered briefly how absurd it was that five years of intense study could be boiled down to one leaf of parchment, and it took Harry a moment to turn the writing into any real meaning.

**Ordinary Wizarding Level Results**  
**Pass Grades**  
Outstanding (O)  
Exceeds Expectations (E)  
Acceptable (A)  
**Fail Grades**  
Poor (P)  
Dreadful (D)  
Troll (T)

**Harry James Potter has achieved:**

Astronomy. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .A  
Care of Magical Creatures . . . . . . .E  
Charms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .E  
Defense Against the Dark Arts. . . .O  
Divination . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .P  
Herbology . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .E  
History of Magic . . . . . . . . . . . . . .D  
Potions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .E  
Transfiguration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .E

“Well?” James asked.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t find the words. They were not disappointing results, really. He’d always expected to fail Divination, and as he’d had a fit in the middle of his History of Magic lesson, he’d never thought he would pass that exam either. Even his Astronomy score was impressive, considering he’d only filled in a third of his star chart, since Umbridge had attacked Hagrid in the middle of their exam. Seven O.W.L.s all together was truly an accomplishment.

But he’d only gotten an “E” in Potions, and if he wanted to pursue a career as an Auror, he needed an “O.”

Harry passed the paper to his dad.

James grinned. “This is great! Seven O.W.L.s! And look at that Outstanding! Nice work. I know Remus’ll be proud of you, too.” He showed Lily the test results.

“Excellent work, Harry.” Lily smiled. “You really should be proud of this.” She handed the paper to Harry, who passed it to Sirius.

Sirius looked over the results with a satisfied nod. “With scores like this, you could be a Healer if you wanted.”

Harry wasn’t sure that was what he wanted. He’d have to discuss with McGonagall what his options were. He wondered if professional Quidditch player was still on the table, or if the Ministry was going to enforce the lifelong ban Umbridge had sentenced him to.

“How’d you do, Neville?” asked James.

Neville looked a little squeamish. “Gran won’t be happy about Transfiguration. But I got ‘E’ in Charms and Defense.”

“That’s brilliant!” Sirius said.

“Yeah — Harry was a good teacher.”

Harry shoveled a large bite of eggs into his face to hide his embarrassment.

Lily glanced at the test results Neville set down on the table. “Neville! You’re being too modest. That’s an ‘Outstanding’ right there, isn’t it?”

“Oh — yeah, but it’s just Herbology.”

“That’s my favorite subject,” James said. “Right next to Transfiguration and Defense. It’s not nothing — that’s a very difficult subject to get an ‘O’ in. Further proof how much help you’ve been in the garden this summer.”

Now it was Neville’s turn to blush from embarrassment.

“Speaking of,” James said, “I was thinking about walking down to the pond this afternoon. Lily, you said you wanted some Maculate Moss?”

“I do. I want to stock up on common antidotes, just to be safe.”

“Harry, Neville,” James said, “how would you feel about an afternoon picnic by the lake? I bet we could find some Gillyweed, have some fun with it. I’ve been meaning to try it ever since the Triwizard Tournament.”

The grin on James’s face was tempting, but Harry wasn’t sure he should. 

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” Neville said, “but I think I’m really tired from yesterday.”

“And I thought I’d do more with the frog and practice Healing,” Harry said. “Or maybe review defensive spells.”

Lily and James exchanged a look that Harry could tell was worried, but as it often was, he didn’t know what they were saying. He did think he could see a bit of an, “I told you so,” in James’s eyes, so maybe he was finally learning how to read his parents.

“Harry,” Lily said, in a soft tone she usually reserved for discussing nightmares, “Why don’t you take a break today?”

“But I have to learn this stuff!”

Lily’s gentleness seemed to burn away like an Incendiary Jinx had gone off on her face and was replaced with anger. “You don’t _have_ to do anything, Harry. I know you want to learn these things — and we want you to be prepared — but there’s a lot more than — than just fighting.”

“Harry,” James’s voice was softer than Lily’s, “what your mother means is that we can practice dueling tomorrow. Frogs aren’t going anywhere either. You’ve been working so hard all week, and we all had a long day yesterday; it’s alright to take a break today.”

Harry didn’t feel like it was alright to take a break. He felt like he had so much to learn and no time to learn it — and wasn’t that partly their fault, for keeping all of this from him for so long?

But Harry had a hard time saying no to his father, especially since the Battle in the Department of Mysteries. All he had to do was look at the eye-patch, remember that his father had nearly died trying to save him, and that part — that was all Harry’s fault.

His shoulders slumped at he pushed the eggs around his plate. “Sure. Fine.”

Neville yawned. “I can get you my book on mosses if you want. I’m not very good at identifying them yet.”

“Thanks, that would help. Though if I remember, Maculate Moss is pretty easy to spot,” James said, and grinned at everyone, like he was waiting for laughter. Harry wasn’t sure what the joke was, but Lily rolled her eyes.

James elbowed Sirius. “Maculate Moss? Easy to spot?”

Sirius blinked, as if he’d just Apparated into the kitchen from miles away. “Oh — yeah, I get it.” He picked a piece of parchment up from the table, folded it, and tucked it into his pocket. Harry caught a glimpse of the handwriting, but it wasn’t familiar to him. 

“Are you coming with us, Sirius?” Harry asked.

“No, I’d better stay here. Lily and I can watch the house.” He stood and stretched. “How about we try again tomorrow with the frog?” Sirius asked.

“Sure,” Harry said, and swallowed down the bit of his breakfast that tried to crawl its way up his throat.

Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. “Get used to it. You’re no good to your friends if you pass out because one of ‘em has a cut, like your dad did.”

“Hey,” James said, “that was not a cut — you could see the bone in my leg, and I passed out from pain! Not because I’m squeamish.”

“But you are squeamish,” Lily said with a smile.

“I’ve bandaged up enough of Harry’s scrapes, thankyouverymuch.” James stood abruptly and took his dishes to the kitchen sink. “Though yes, fine, before we had Harry, I did not care much for the sight of blood. Nothing stiffens your resolve like being the only adult home when your son flies his broom right into the kitchen table and cracks his head open.”

Harry didn’t think seeing blood was his problem. There was a difference between slicing open your finger and watching a frog’s still-beating heart inside its body. But he had decided to learn Healing Charms for a reason, and he didn’t have time to wait until he had a son with Quidditch injuries to get over squeamishness.

“I’ll be alright,” Harry said, as confidently as he could, and finished his orange juice. “Should I help Mellie get a picnic basket together?”

The afternoon was warm, but the pond provided a pleasant way to cool off after their short hike. James showed Harry the Maculate Moss growing along the tree roots, easy to identify by the unique spotted coloring that gave it its name. They gathered it into small glass bottles for Lily and tucked them into the picnic basket. Harry, after a bit of convincing, agreed to cool off in the pond with James. They didn’t find Gillyweed — Harry had only used it once, and the sample Dobby had gotten for him had probably come from Snape’s potion stores. What the plant looked like in the wild, Harry had no idea.

Still, they enjoyed a rather lazy afternoon in the water and on the shore. It was exactly the sort of day Harry would have been thrilled about when he was younger. Picnics by the pond, especially in summer, had been common ways to pass the time before Harry went to Hogwarts. He would spend hours chasing tadpoles or catching frogs while his parents waded with him or sat on the shore and watched. But as much fun as Harry had spending this afternoon with his father, he couldn’t ignore a nagging feeling in his stomach that he could be doing more, should be doing more, to fight against Voldemort.

As the afternoon began to cool, Harry sat in the sun to dry off, and James took out the food Harry and Mellie had packed for them. Harry realized just how hungry swimming had made him and ate eagerly. 

“It is really nice to have Mellie back,” James said as he chewed on one of the sandwiches. “Her and Picksie have been so helpful.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Mellie cooks better than you and Mum do.”

“To be fair, she’s had a hundred years more practice.”

Harry laughed and watched as James used his wand to pull two glass bottles of lemonade from the picnic basket. As Harry caught the drink, he thought about how odd it was to see his father casually using magic. James often left his wand in strange places — forgot it on the table or in his coat pocket. It was usually up to Harry or Lily to remind him to carry it with him. This last year, however, James hadn’t needed the reminders. Harry supposed the reason James was more conscious of his wand didn’t need to be explained.

Harry laid down in the grass and closed his eyes, letting the summer sun warm him. It couldn’t chase out the ever-present fear that seemed to have lodged itself in the pit of Harry’s stomach, but it did enough.

“Sleep alright last night?” James asked.

“More or less,” Harry said, without opening his eyes. 

“Your scar isn’t hurting, is it?”

“No. I promise.”

“Last night, did Dumbledore talk to you about… you know, the prophecy?”

“A bit.” Harry wondered if he should mention he’d be taking private lessons with Dumbledore in the fall. Dumbledore hadn’t said the lessons needed to be secret, but he had advised discretion. Harry looked up at his father. “He just asked how I felt about it, mostly. He didn’t know you and mum had told Remus the prophecy.”

“Oh. I suppose it never came up.” James pulled off his glasses and rubbed his good eye. “You know you can talk to your mum and I, right? This prophecy business is… well, your mother and I have been dealing with it for almost seventeen years now, and we haven’t always handled it well. I can’t imagine what you’re going through —”

“Dad, I’m alright.”

“If you need a Quidditch game to take your mind off things, or if —”

“I mean it, really. I’m fine.”

James didn’t look too sure. Harry was struck, for the very first time, how old his father looked. Maybe it was the eye-patch, or the strangeness of glasses over an eyepatch, but James suddenly looked... old. Harry had spent his entire life being told how much he looked like James, and he’d always imagined as he grew up, he would look more and more like his father, until they were almost impossible to tell apart. But he hadn’t fully considered that the gap in their ages would never truly close. James’s hair was beginning to turn white over his ears, and his laugh lines had set more deeply — or were they worry lines? Worries that Harry had never noticed, because James had worked so hard to hide them.

James laid down in the grass and Harry could no longer see his face. “I am sorry you have to go through this. Seems like something we should’ve taken care of years ago.”

Harry finished his sandwich and folded up the paper wrapping with a bit more care than necessary. His stomach was suddenly uneasy.

“I still remember,” James said, “being away at school and worrying I’d get bad news about my parents, because my dad was so outspoken for Muggles. I knew it was only a matter of time before he said the wrong thing to the wrong person or — or the Death Eaters came after them. I’m sure you’re worried, and it won’t be long before you’re back at school….” James sighed. “I’m sorry. This should’ve been over and done with by now.”

Harry sat up and frowned. “Dad — you can’t apologize because Voldemort came back.”

James’s grin was lazy. “Can’t I?” He pushed himself back up into a sitting position and stretched his arms over his head. “There’s a dozen and one things to be worried about, and I feel I ought to apologize for half of them. Maybe Dumbledore can apologize for the other half.”

“Voldemort was always going to come back,” Harry said. “No matter what you or Dumbledore did.” He didn’t say, “because I’m the only one who can face him,” because he didn’t think James would find those words any more comforting. Harry certainly didn’t take comfort in them.

“Doesn’t make me worry less.” James squinted at the setting sun. “Suppose we should get back before your mother and Sirius have to start worrying about us.”

They packed up their picnic and headed back to the house. While they walked, Harry turned his father’s words over. Growing up, Harry had always thought of his mother as the one who worried and his father as the one who didn’t. If this war had shown Harry anything about his parents, it was that his father worried just as much as his mother; James was just better at hiding it. 

Harry had known for a long time that his mother and Sirius were a lot alike. They were both prone to violent outbursts if pressed, they liked to maintain control of a situation, and they did not tolerate insults. Both gave variations of terrible advice — Lily gave terrible advice because she sympathized with Harry too little; Sirius gave terrible advice because he sympathized too much — and both Lily and Sirius loved more openly and fiercely than anyone Harry had met. 

He’d never quite thought that James and Remus were a lot alike, but he supposed there were similarities there. Remus had always been the calm who navigated the storm that could be Sirius, and James, similarly, had mediated between Lily and Sirius for years. As Harry wondered why he had never noticed how much his father could be like Remus, he realized the striking difference between them: Remus was willing to sit through Sirius and Lily’s rage or temper, wait until they burned out, but it was James who cut off their outbursts before they could happen.

Remus was the one who had talked with Harry about the prophecy. He’d let Harry be angry, let Harry throw blame on his parents, on Sirius, even on Remus. Remus was the one who offered a cleaning salve after a wound had been opened. James, though, offered midnight Quidditch games, encouraged Harry to use the Invisibility Cloak, and took Harry out to the pond for an afternoon swim. James offered things that never meant to hurt, things that were maybe not entirely safe, but were certainly fun. They became, in their own way, a sort of protection or haven, a place Harry could take his mind off of things. Maybe, if Harry had so much trouble putting his mind at ease before bed, Quidditch really was exactly what he needed, and James knew that. Harry resolved to be more attentive to his father’s offers of afternoon picnics or midnight Quidditch scrimmages.

When they arrived back at the house, Lily’s welcome wasn’t especially exuberant, but Harry could see the relief in her eyes.

“You’ve had a couple letters,” she said to Harry, and took the flasks of Maculate Moss from James.

Harry picked up the two parchment rolls from the kitchen table and easily recognized Ron and Hermione’s handwriting on the outside. He supposed they were sharing their O.W.L. results with him. A bit of guilt wormed its way into his stomach. Writing them about his O.W.L.s certainly hadn’t been his first thought. 

James took the cauldron out from underneath the counter and Lily began to gather various potions supplies from the cabinets. Harry thought he would do better out of the way, so he headed upstairs. First, though, he cleaned up from his dip in the pond and ran into Neville in the hallway.

“Oh, Harry,” Neville said, “did you see the letters from Ron and Hermione?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“They wrote me, too,” Neville said with a smile. “Nice of them.”

“Oh. Yeah, that was.”

Neville asked Harry how the pond was, and Harry politely told him it was fine. He didn’t mention the conversation he and James had had about the war. His mind was on the letters Ron and Hermione had sent Neville. Harry supposed that, this last year, between the D.A, the Order, and Umbridge, Neville really had become part of Harry’s close circle of friends.

He supposed if he did decide to share the prophecy with his friends, that included Neville, regardless of Neville nearly being The Chosen One. But maybe he’d wait to tell Neville… it’d be easier if he could tell Neville, Ron, and Hermione at the same time, right?

Harry left Neville to the bathroom and sat down at his desk to read Ron and Hermione’s letters. He started with Ron’s.

_Harry —_

_It’s already been a week of summer and so much has happened! Hermione and I got our O.W.L. results today. Guess who definitely won’t be taking Divination or History of Magic next year? Thank Merlin. I somehow managed an Exceeds Expectations in Potions? Good thing we need an Outstanding or Mum would probably make me take it and I’m not interested in another year with Snape._

_Hermione, of course, is distraught because she got an “E” in Defense. And I guess she wants to take Potions. Merlin knows why. You’d think with nine Outstandings she could take any other class she wants._

_Hope you did alright in everything! It’d be weird to be in a class without you, so we should compare grades and make sure we take the same classes next year._

_I wish you were here this summer. It’s been busy. Dad’s got a promotion, for one. He’s got people reporting to him and his new job is about confiscating fake protection devices. People popping up now selling Disguise Necklaces or Vanishing Rings — Dad says it’s all rubbish and the stuff hurts people more than it’ll help. It sounded interesting at first, rounding up conmen, but I guess there’s a lot of paperwork, too, making sure people are properly certified to sell stuff. That part’s way less interesting._

_Also, Bill’s engaged. Remember Fleur Delacour? Well, how could you forget her! Anyway, she’s staying here, getting to know Mum and the family and planning the wedding. Mum says they’re rushing into it, and she and Ginny are right fed up with her. Hermione, too, though I don’t know why. I think Mum wants to set Tonks up with Bill instead. She keeps inviting her over. But I think we’re related, distantly, so that might be weird._

_Oh, yeah, Hermione’s staying with us this summer. She went home to her parents for a bit, but I think she wanted to stay involved with the Order and everything that’s going on. It’s nice having her around, but it’s weird that you aren’t here. Mum says you’re always welcome, but there’s a lot going on here, and I imagine after our field trip your parents want to keep you pretty close to home? Would they let you do something for your birthday? If you can get away for a bit, you should. I don’t know if Neville would want to, but I guess he could come too. Or we should all just make sure we go to Diagon Alley together to get school supplies and we can see Fred and George’s new shop._

_Hope your summer’s going good so far. We’ll see you soon._

_— Ron_

Harry remembered the year he’d turned thirteen. While Ron’s family had been proud of Ron’s award for special services to the school, Harry’s had been far more furious that he’d sneaked away and nearly been eaten by Acromantula, only to do it again and nearly get eaten by a basilisk. Harry’d been grounded for most of the summer, and he supposed it was reasonable for Ron to suspect Harry was in trouble again for running off to London and nearly getting killed by Voldemort. 

It was a bit of a surprise to know Hermione was staying with Ron, and Harry read her letter before replying to Ron’s. It was, unsurprisingly, far wordier than Ron’s. Hermione did like to talk.

_Dear Harry,_

_Our O.W.L. results arrived today, so I expect yours did too. I got an “E” in Defense Against the Dark Arts, which I suppose should be expected, since we had such a horrid teacher last year, but I was really hoping to do your training proud. I’m sure you did at least as well._

_I’m shocked I got an Outstanding in Ancient Runes, after my silly translation mistake with ‘ehwaz’ and ‘eihwaz.’ I did well in Potions, too. I hope you did alright, Harry. I know you want to be an Auror, and you’ll need an Outstanding to continue on. Perhaps Professor Snape would make an exception for you? Goodness, that sounds almost funny as I write it out. But maybe Professor McGonagall could make him make an exception for you. I’m sure Professor McGonagall will help you figure it out — not that you couldn’t have gotten an Outstanding. You certainly could have, I just thought, in case you didn’t, you shouldn’t worry too much._

_I should tell you that I’ve decided to stay with Ron this summer. I visited my parents for a few days, but with everything that’s happened at the Ministry of Magic and You-Know-Who returning, I wanted to stay closer to the magical world. It’s so hard to be separated from all of it, wondering if everyone is alright and not knowing what’s going on. Mrs. Weasley has been kind enough to let me stay here at the Burrow, even though Fleur Delacour is already staying here, too. She and Bill Weasley got engaged, you see, so Fleur has been staying with the Weasleys. Even though she’s here, it’s certainly quieter with Fred and George moved out. No loud bangs in the middle of the night, though they stop by for meals fairly often. It’s nice to have a bit of laughter at dinner, which can get so somber now. Mrs. Weasley says they have a flat above their shop in Diagon Alley now. It sounds like their business is doing really well. I was really surprised to hear it, but I suppose everyone needs a bit of a laugh these days._

_I imagine your parents don’t read_ The Daily Prophet _anymore, after everything they said about you all these last two years, but it seems like every day there’s a new horrible event in the paper. The Dark Mark over someone’s house, or people dragged out of their shops on Diagon Alley. It’s terrifying. They reported just a few days ago that Ollivander’s shop was destroyed and Ollivander was missing. I hope he’s alright, but it’s a shame to think of all the new wizards who won’t be able to get wands from Ollivander’s. And I don’t know how we’ll get our school supplies safely! I’m sure we’ll manage, but it is hard not to worry about it. I do hope if we go to Diagon Alley that we’ll see you there. Or you’ll be able to stop by some time this summer. I’m sure Mrs. Weasley would be happy to have you visit, though I’m not sure you would want to, with Fleur Delacour popping in and out of rooms stunning Ron into a stupor every time. Ginny’s taken to calling her Phlegm, which I suppose isn’t very nice but it is a bit funny._

_I hope your summer’s going well and your family is alright. It’ll be nice to go back to school, I think, to do something normal in the midst of everything. And of course it’ll be good to see you again. Mr. Weasley mentioned that the Aurors are keeping such odd hours these days that Neville is staying with you. I hope he did just as well on his Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. You really were an excellent teacher, Harry. I expect we’ll have a better teacher this year, and we’ll be terribly busy with N.E.W.T. classes, but otherwise, it really would have been nice to keep the D.A. going. Of course, I’m thrilled Umbridge won’t be returning, but I will miss our meetings._

_Hopefully Ron and I can see you in Diagon Alley, or perhaps for your birthday? Do write soon._

_Love,_  
_Hermione_

Harry, like Hermione, would not miss Umbridge. He might miss D.A. meetings, but he wasn’t sure he would have the time with N.E.W.T. classes. Besides, maybe Professor Slughorn wouldn’t turn out to be such a bad Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and Harry and his peers could actually learn something. His parents certainly hadn’t seemed too bothered about Slughorn, not the way they had been upset with Dumbledore’s choice of Lockhart or Umbridge.

He did appreciate Hermione’s compliment to his own teaching. It was kind of her to think of him, but he was sure a lot of his friends’ success in the subject had just as much to do with Lily, Remus, and Moody teaching Defense as it did Harry.

Harry rummaged through his trunk for his quill and parchment to write a reply. He appreciated Ron’s offer of a visit, but Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to leave his parents for any great length of time, and he didn’t want to impose on Mrs. Weasley if she was already overwhelmed with Fleur visiting them. Harry wouldn’t mind seeing Fleur, though. He hadn’t seen her since the Triwizard Tournament. She may have Veela ancestry that could leave those who talked to her in a daze, but Harry knew her as an excellent competitor in the Triwizard Tournament. She’d held her own against the dragon, probably better than any of them had. She was also fond of Harry for completing the Second Task and saving her little sister when she could not. 

Perhaps he’d see Fleur in Diagon Alley when their book lists came, or she’d visit for his birthday. Surely his parents would have people over for his birthday, and the Weasley’s would come. Maybe even others from the Order, like the Diggorys or Tonks or Moody — or Remus. As absent as Remus had been this summer, surely Remus would come home for Harry’s birthday.

Harry found his ink bottle at the bottom of his trunk, dried up and empty. He set the empty bottle down on his desk and headed downstairs to find ink. He supposed while he was downstairs he could ask his parents about visiting Ron, or the possibility of Ron and Hermione visiting them.

Harry searched for ink in the dining room first. He remembered his mother had been writing a letter there last night, and it wasn’t unusual for parchment, quills, and ink to get hastily put away in the drawers of the china cabinet.

Of course, that was before Picksie and Mellie had returned to the house. Instead of the disorganized drawer Harry expected, he found stacks of letters neatly pressed, organized by date. The top layer was a series of letters from Scrimgeour, all of which Harry had read. He saw a few letters from his Aunt Petunia, and some over the years from Dumbledore and other friends in the Order, but found no blank parchment nor quills nor ink. Either Picksie or Mellie had reorganized things. If there was a proper place quills and ink were kept, Harry didn’t know about it.

He closed the drawer and headed into the kitchen. “Mum — Dad —” He stopped when James held up a finger.

Lily was counting her stirs in the cauldron, face deep in concentration. It was the sort of concentration Harry had never really been able to muster in a Potions class. When she was done, she tapped the brim of the cauldron and the potion changed from turquoise to perfectly clear. James pulled an empty jar from the cabinet and held it steady while Lily poured the potion into the jar. It wasn’t until the jar was full and sealed that Lily’s shoulders relaxed and she turned to Harry.

“Sorry, Harry. What did you need?”

James tore a small sheet of parchment and used his wand to stick the scrap onto the jar.

“Ink,” Harry said. “To write Ron and Hermione back.”

James, jar in hand, looked around the kitchen. “We need ink to label these antidotes. Lils, what did you do with it last night?”

Lily frowned. “I don’t think I did anything with it, between Dumbledore arriving and the toadstools — I left it on the dining room table.”

“So where would Picksie and Mellie put it?” Harry asked.

James shrugged and waved his wand. “ _Accio Ink_.”

As if it were the result of the Summoning Charm, the fireplace burned with green flames and someone stepped into the kitchen. Lily whipped her wand at the fireplace as the ink bottle flew into the kitchen and struck James in the chest, dumping ink all over his clothes. Harry fumbled in his pockets for his wand as a second person stepped out of the fireplace.

Before Harry could manage a proper dueling stance, he realized the people walking into their kitchen were not strangers at all.

“Tonks — Cedric — what are you —”

But James stepped in front of Harry, wand leveled at the two newcomers. “Just a moment. We need to be sure they are who they appear to be.”

Tonks rolled her eyes and put her hands up in a show of innocence. “You don’t think two Death Eaters would come waltzing into your house without our wands already drawn?”

James did not look amused. “Tonks, all you have to do is change your hair color and we’ll know it’s you. As for Cedric — what color was the wrapping on your birthday gift last year, from your parents?”

Cedric blinked. “The one Mrs. Potter gave to me? Gold, I think?”

Lily nodded. “Good. And Tonks?”

Harry waited for her brown hair to turn pink or purple, or perhaps she could shift her nose into a more beak-like appearance, but she did not. Today she looked, Harry realized, unusually like Sirius. Her eyes were grey instead of their warm brown, and her face was made of harsher angles, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw, rather than the soft, round face, he had come to know her with. She was still definitely Tonks, but today she looked more like a Black.

Tonks mumbled something under her breath. Her cheeks flushed, and Harry didn’t think that was from her Metamorphmagus abilities.

“What was that?” Lily asked.

“I said I can’t.” Tonks bit down on the inside of her cheek. “Sirius told you I was coming, didn’t he?”

“He did.” Lily glanced at James. Both seemed unsure if they should believe this really was Tonks.

“We came from Headquarters,” Cedric said, “if that helps. She couldn’t be in on the secret unless Dumbledore told her.”

“The Fidelius Charm isn’t impervious to traitors,” James said. “What —”

“Oh — there you all are.”

Harry turned and saw Sirius standing in the kitchen doorway. He noticed his parents didn’t take their eyes off of Cedric and Tonks.

“Tonks, you didn’t mention you were bringing Cedric,” Sirius said.

“Better to travel in pairs,” Tonks said. “Tell James and Lily it’s me, would you? What do you call my mum?”

Sirius grinned. “Drommie. What do you call my mum?”

“Bitch.”

As Tonks and Sirius laughed, James frowned. “Hey — those are our predetermined questions. Sirius, you can’t make the same joke with everyone.”

“Sure I can. Punchline makes me laugh every time. Come off it, I’m sure this is really Tonks. Do you think Death Eaters would waltz in here without their wands drawn?”

“Thank you,” Tonks said.

James lowered his wand but Lily wasn’t convinced.

“What did you come here to discuss with Sirius?” Lily asked.

“Nothing,” Tonks said in a way that sounded like it meant everything. It was the same way Sirius had said “Nothing,” when Harry had asked what he and Remus were arguing about.

“This is Tonks alright,” Sirius said, his smile gone. “Mind if we use the parlor?”

Lily still seemed unsure, but she lowered her wand.

“After we clean this up,” James gestured to the cauldron and potions ingredients scattered on the counter, “I’m going to help Picksie and Mellie with supper. Will you two be joining us?”

Cedric looked to Tonks and Tonks looked to him. “Sure,” Cedric said, as Tonks said, “Our parents’ll probably worry —”

“Stay,” James said. “Whatever you and Sirius have to talk about would be best followed by a good meal, I imagine.”

When Tonks didn’t argue, Sirius motioned for her to follow him into the parlor. 

“What was that about?” Harry asked, as Lily started putting away potion supplies.

“Which part?” James asked. “Sirius’s joke about his mum, that Tonks can’t use her abilities, or the secret conversation she and Sirius are probably having about Remus?”

Harry hadn’t imagined this had anything to do with Remus, of all things, and the way James said it so matter-of-factly caught Harry off guard. “I meant why you didn’t believe her — you didn’t do any of that with Dumbledore last night. And how do you know they’re talking about Remus? Is it about why Remus didn’t come home last weekend?”

“Dumbledore was here?” asked Cedric.

Lily stacked jars into their potions cabinet. “We didn’t do any of that with Dumbledore last night because we had our hands full of Leaping Toadstools and we were caught a bit off guard.”

“If he’d been there to kill us he’d have done it much quicker.” James pointed his wand at his chest and Vanished the ink stain off of his robes. “Besides, if Death Eaters were impersonating Dumbledore, there’d be bigger problems to worry about. Impersonating a couple Aurors, though? That’s not too hard. No offense, Cedric.”

Cedric shook his head. “None taken. I can see how Tonks not using her abilities would be suspicious.”

“Is she alright?” Lily asked. “I’ve never seen her looking so… well, quiet.”

“Remus is being his usual self, from what I gather,” James said. “I only know what Sirius’s told me. Remus won’t talk to me about it.” He sounded only a little bitter. James knelt down and picked the empty ink bottle up from the kitchen floor. “Sorry, Harry, guess we’ll have to pick up more ink when we go to Diagon Alley. Might be able to pick some berries for ink. Not the best, but it works in a pinch.”

“Why don’t you and Cedric go pick some?” Lily suggested. “James and I will help the elves with supper. I’m sure Neville will want to write home about his O.W.L.s, so we’ll need a bit on hand.”

Harry wasn’t sure if a walk to the mulberry tree was how Cedric wanted to spend his evening, but Cedric was already shrugging off his cloak and rolling up his sleeves.

“I could use a walk in the garden, after all day in London,” he said.

Harry grabbed a pair of pails they used for harvesting and took them to the pump on the side of the house. Rinsing before gathering was an important habit his parents had instilled him with, especially since once a month they harvested wolfsbane, and it could easily contaminate. Cedric followed suit, and used _Aguamenti_ to clean two more pails. 

“How is being an Auror?” Harry asked.

Cedric shrugged. “Busy. I’m not technically an Auror yet, you know.”

“Yeah, you said Kingsley’s training you?”

“They reassigned me to Williamson. He’s alright. Knows his stuff. Hard that he’s not in the Order, but I am learning a lot. And working with Tonks and the Longbottoms is good. Nice to know there’s people who have your back.”

Harry led Cedric down a path around the south side of the house and towards a grove of trees. “Do you know what’s going on with Tonks? Is she really alright?”

Cedric shrugged. “Can’t say. She’s definitely been down this summer, but most of us at the office just assume it’s because of the war and the stress of Bellatrix Lestrange getting away. I didn’t even consider it might have anything to do with Lupin until your dad said so.”

Adding Tonks into the fight between Sirius and Remus only made things more complicated to Harry. He had so many questions, but he didn’t think Cedric would have the answers.

“Did you say Dumbledore stopped by last night?” Cedric asked.

“Oh — yeah. It was just an errand for Hogwarts.”

Cedric frowned. “I thought… well, I thought if anyone knew what that prophecy said, it would be Dumbledore. I guess it really is gone forever.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say, but he was spared by a strong breeze, filled with the scent of the grove, fruits and blossoms mixed together in the warm July air.

“Is that… oranges?” Cedric asked. “You can grow oranges in this climate?”

Harry shrugged. “We grow a lot of stuff. I don’t know all the charms for them yet, but Dad said it’s kind of like a magical greenhouse without being a real greenhouse.” He wrinkled his nose and sniffed the air again. “Smells like the coffee and jasmine are flowering, too.”

Cedric shook his head. “What don’t you grow here?”

Harry led Cedric into the small grove of trees and the temperature, instead of cooling in the shade, seemed to grow warmer and stickier, like a greenhouse would, but there were no glass paneled walls enclosing them. They passed orange trees with a bit of fruit still on the branches; most of it had been harvested already. The lemon were similarly picked over, but the limes were blossoming. On the other side of the grove, coffee, jasmine, and elder grew. As they walked, the air grew cooler, more like what they would expect of a shady grove, and the air less humid. At the end of the grove, they reached the mulberry tree.

Harry pulled one of the branches down to chest-level, to make it easier to pick the berries off of it. Mulberries were fairly easy to pick, but they made his hands purple with their juice.

“Scrimgeour asked me to talk to you,” Cedric said suddenly.

“What?” Harry let go of his branch in surprise. It whipped up into the tree and rustled against the other branches.

“Tonks asked for leave tonight, said she was going to talk to Sirius about some tips she’d gotten on Regulus Black — those of us in the Order kind of use him as an excuse when we need to get out of Ministry work, but anyway — Scrimgeour told me to go with her, figured you might be nearby, wanted me to convince you to help out the Ministry.”

“So you think I should?”

Cedric laughed and shook his head. He reached up for a branch and started dropping berries into one of his buckets. “I think Scrimgeour is an excellent Auror and an excellent politician. He knows he has a tough job and he knows that people will like him more if he looks like he’s doing everything he can. He also knows people would like to see your face in the Ministry of Magic, more than they like seeing mine. And I think I only have the job I have because I’m friends with you.”

Harry frowned at the mulberry branch like it was the one who had offended him rather than Scrimgeour. “So Scrimgeour doesn’t want you or me to fight, really?”

“I doubt he would want to put someone who had barely finished their O.W.L.s on the front lines. Even I don’t see a lot of action, unless it’s public.”

The scars on the back of Harry’s hand burned. He knew Cedric had the same scars on the back of his hand, and it only made his anger stronger. “How can you be okay with that? The Ministry is using you like a — I don’t know, like a prop. If I just walked in and said hello once a week that would be a lie. And we both know how the Ministry feels about those who tell lies.”

Cedric smiled, and Harry felt his cheeks flush more.

“I don’t think it’s funny —”

“No, it’s not funny,” but Cedric laughed. “It’s only — well, this is about what I expected you to say. You didn’t like playing nice with Umbridge, and I didn’t think you’d play nice with Scrimgeour. I wasn’t even going to bring any of this up, because I didn’t think your answer would change just because I asked.”

That didn’t make Harry feel better.

“What about you? You’re still playing nice? After everything Umbridge and Fudge did?”

“I became an Auror so I could fight, so I could learn more and be of better use to the Order. Because if I’m going to face Voldemort again, I’m going to be more prepared. For now, the Ministry is the best place to do that.”

Harry’s anger was swallowed by the half-dissected frog that suddenly crawled its way up his throat. The thought of Cedric facing Voldemort, of dying at Voldemort’s hands, was too easily conjured. Cedric shouldn’t face Voldemort again — no one could, except Harry.

After everything Cedric had already faced — nearly dying in the graveyard, being tortured by Voldemort and the Death Eaters, standing up to Umbridge for Harry — he deserved to know what Harry was up against. If there was anyone Harry could tell the prophecy to, perhaps even more than Neville, Ron, and Hermione, it should be Cedric.

But as he had so many times today, Harry hesitated, the prophecy on the tip of his tongue. Cedric had said he’d stopped by because Scrimgeour had asked. It was possible he would take the prophecy straight back to Ministry, that Cedric would confirm for the Wizarding World what they already suspected: that Harry was indeed The Chosen One.

No, Cedric was in the Order, Harry reminded himself. Cedric was trustworthy. Remus and Sirius had been driven apart during the first war by suspicion, and was Harry really going to let himself lose his friendship with Cedric in that same way? 

Dumbledore had asked Harry to lean on others for bravery. Cedric had encouraged Harry over the last year, even when they’d fought, and if anyone could help Harry face this prophecy, it would be Cedric.

“Dumbledore didn’t tell me the prophecy that got destroyed,” Harry said. “My mum did.”

Cedric paused, stunned by this change in topic, then resumed filling his bucket of mulberries without a word, waiting for Harry to say what Harry wanted to say. With a deep breath, Harry kept his eyes on the berries and shared the prophecy with Cedric. He was able to get out the beginning, about a boy born at the end of July to those who had thrice defied the Dark Lord, fairly easily. He told Cedric that it was the prophecy that had driven his parents into hiding, that his scar was part of the mark, and that the final lines — “Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives” — had a fairly clear meaning.

Throughout it all, Cedric was silent. Even when Harry had finished, Cedric said nothing. Harry didn’t know what he expected Cedric to say, but he’d thought Cedric might have some sort of comment. He counted thirteen mulberries before Cedric sat down in the dirt and buried his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Cedric said. He looked up, grey eyes as weary as they had been last summer, when Cedric had stumbled into the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, eyes rimmed with dark circles and a face worn with the fear of someone who had faced death and barely survived. Harry felt guilt tighten in his gut, like this exhaustion was somehow his fault.

“What are you sorry for?” Harry asked, and crouched next to Cedric. “I’m the one who —”

“But that’s it, isn’t it? You’re the one. You’re actually The Chosen One. I thought….” Cedric shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just — you saved me in the graveyard. You saved me again in the Department of Mysteries, and I guess I’d sort of hoped I could be the one to save you from Voldemort next time. Return the favor for once.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to laugh. “You saved me in the graveyard, remember? Voldemort would have killed me before I had a chance to run if you hadn’t been there. And even in the Department of Mysteries — the Order saved us. I’m the reason we were there in the first place. You even took the fall for our interview with Rita Skeeter and got detention with Umbridge — you’ve done plenty.”

Cedric ran a hand over his face as if he might wipe away his worry. It didn’t seem to work. “Can you promise me one thing?”

Harry thought of the promises he’d made and broken over the years. Promises to stay out of danger, promises not to keep secrets, not to lie. 

“Sure,” he said.

“Promise you won’t do it alone. If I can be there, I want to fight.”

“No,” Harry said, before Cedric had even finished talking. “No — if it’s down to me or Voldemort I can’t let anyone else —”

“I’m not asking, Harry. The prophecy only says you have to face Voldemort. It doesn’t say you can’t have help.”

“Prophecy or not, enough people have risked their lives for me —”

“It’s not about you, Harry. Do you think I joined the Ministry for you? I gave up a career in Magical Beasts for you? I joined the Order because of you? This is so much bigger than you, Harry. It’s about everything.” Cedric gestured vaguely at the orchard around them. “Our entire world depends on defeating Voldemort. Maybe it’ll come down to you and him, but you’d be stupid to think that means you should go alone and face him.”

Harry wanted to argue with Cedric. He was so used to arguing with his parents, who focused so much of their effort on protecting him. The way James and Lily talked about the war, it really felt like it did center on Harry, and he supposed, for his parents, maybe it all did. But for someone like Cedric, for people like Neville, Ron, and Hermione, the war meant a lot more.

“Okay,” Harry said. “I’ll — I don’t know — I’ll write you if I feel like I’m about to duel Voldemort and you can join me as soon as you get the owl.”

Cedric laughed. It was a real, genuine laugh, one that seemed to force its way out from his gut. “Just don’t be reckless about it. Like trying to go to the Ministry by yourself.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Harry stood and held a hand out to help Cedric stand. Cedric took it.

They walked back to the house with their mostly full buckets of mulberries. Harry figured it would be enough, at least until they went to Diagon Alley for school supplies. If Scrimgeour was going to keep sending letters asking for Harry’s help, he was going to have to accept the replies in berry ink. 

When they got back to the house, they were told to put the buckets aside and set the dining room table. It was almost like being back in Grimmauld Place, helping prepare dinner for the Order. Mellie was as grumpy as Kreacher, though less rude, and James was as quick to delegate tasks as Molly Weasley. Picksie squeaked as Cedric got the china out of the cabinet and used her own wandless magic to carefully place the dishes at each setting. Neville came downstairs to help, and between the seven of them, supper was ready fairly quickly. As James helped Picksie and Mellie put the food out, Harry was given the task of alerting Sirius and Tonks.

Harry approached the parlor door and told himself not to eavesdrop. He shouldn’t be rude; just because he very much wanted to understand what was wrong between Remus and Sirius did not mean he should listen in on what Sirius and Tonks were privately discussing.

“No, it doesn’t,” Tonks said in a raised voice, just as Harry lifted his hand to knock. “It doesn’t make it better knowing I didn’t do anything wrong — it would make it better if I could do something to fix it!”

Harry hesitated. Was it alright to interrupt now? It sounded important.

“You can’t fix him.” Sirius sounded exhausted, the way James sounded each time Lily brought up adding electricity to the house. It was the exhaustion of a fight had time and time again. “Believe me, I’ve tried to get him to see it right — I’ve known him twenty-five years, and the only way he’ll see sense is if he gets there himself.”

Tonks’ mumbled response was lost to Harry, but Sirius said, “Sure, he has every right to say no, for whatever reason he likes, but he’s also being a git. Won’t come home, won’t talk to me — if he doesn’t show for Harry’s birthday, James and I will both chase him down and talk sense into him.”

Harry’s stomach did a somersault. It was obvious they were talking about Remus, but it didn’t give Harry any insight into why Remus was being so distant and stubborn. Sirius and Tonks’s conversation turned quieter, and stayed muffled behind the door. Harry took a deep breath, hoped that meant things had calmed down, and knocked.

“Supper’s about ready,” he said, and waited just long enough to hear Sirius say, “Thanks, we’ll be right there,” before heading back to the dining room, ears still burning and stomach still uneasy.

Whatever Remus was going through, Harry wanted to be supportive. But the idea of Remus being so upset with Sirius that he wouldn’t stop by for Harry’s birthday made Harry sick to his stomach. Remus had always lamented when the full moon forced him to miss Harry’s birthday and to miss Harry’s birthday this year simply because of a fight with Sirius sounded so horribly unlike Remus. Something had to be seriously wrong.

“Alright, Snitch?” James asked as he sat a large tray of baked squash down on the table. 

“Yeah, fine.” Harry grabbed a pitcher of water off of the table and started filling water glasses. He wasn’t sure how to explain his worry about Remus, and besides, his father was already worried about Remus. They all were. He did wonder, briefly, if he could ask James or Sirius to explain to him, plainly, what the fight between Remus and Sirius was all about. James had promised no more secrets, but maybe right before dinner with Cedric and Tonks and Neville still here was not the right time to ask. 

The meal itself was not especially somber, but it was quieter than most meals with so many people. Part of it was because of the war: so much of the conversation was dominated by work the Aurors were doing or missions the Order was on. Part of it was because Neville asked Tonks if she could do a silly face like she used to at Order dinners and she had to awkwardly tell him she couldn’t. The third part, at least the third part that Harry noticed, was because of Remus’s absence. It was so strange to Harry to have all of his family there and not Remus. It had been small at first, but now, two weeks into the summer and one full moon passed, the gap Remus left had expanded with each meal, like ivy left untended.

Unfortunately, as summer went on, meals did not get better. Though the occasional Order member would drop by, and the Longbottoms came by once or twice a week, everyone seemed to bring bad news. Emmeline Vance, who had been missing for weeks, finally turned up half-out of her mind, and there were new attacks on Muggles, hastily covered up by the Ministry — it seemed to Harry that things were getting worse, not better, and he wondered how much longer the Ministry and the Order could keep fighting Voldemort. And through it all, the Potters received no word from Remus.

Late into the summer, Frank and Alice stopped over for dinner, bearing news that Florean Fortescue, who had run a small ice cream shop in Diagon Alley, had been dragged out of his shop by Death Eaters. It had put a damper on the evening, certainly, and when they mentioned that Remus had just stopped by their home for dinner, Sirius lost his temper.

He threw down his fork. It clattered against the china so loudly that both Neville and James jumped. As Sirius stood he said, “That’s it. The full moon’s tomorrow, and Harry’s birthday right after, and I’m dragging him back here for all of it. He doesn’t have to talk to me, but I’m not letting him worry us like this.”

James set his fork down much more gently. “Maybe he needs to spend the full moon with his new friends. We can go get him the day after.”

Frank Longbottom cleared his throat. “Actually — we know for certain that Lupin plans to be alone tomorrow.”

“It’s part of why we made sure to see you tonight,” Alice added. “Neville wrote us and said you were all worried about Remus, so when he was visiting us we pressed him a bit. Maybe we lied a little and said Dumbledore asked us to get a few details out of him —” She turned red and took a sip of her wine. “— but he told us the werewolves he’s met don’t trust him just yet. He isn’t able to spend the full moon with them. He’d said he was considering the Shrieking Shack for tomorrow night —”

Sirius left, slamming the kitchen door behind him.

Alice flinched, but continued talking. “— and he asked us if we’d take word to Dumbledore about it. We figured we’d better come to you. You know him best, afterall, and it seemed like — well, it seems like you were right to be worried about him, though I don’t know what’s wrong, exactly.”

James stood with a swear. “We’ll find him. Lily, could you make sure everything’s ready?”

Lily seemed to pale, but she nodded, and James ran after Sirius.

“Do you know what’s got into him?” Alice asked. “Why he won’t come back, or ask anyone else in the Order for help?”

Lily downed her wine glass. “I know he and Sirius fought. I know Remus must realize he’s the one in the wrong, or he wouldn’t be avoiding James and I as well.”

Frank hummed thoughtfully as he reached for a second helping of potatoes. “Just because he knows you and James will take Sirius’s side in whatever their fight was doesn’t mean he’s in the wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that I have mediated many fights between my wife and my mother to know the behavior of someone feels unsupported, regardless of who is right or wrong.”

Alice stuck her tongue out at Frank. “One time! One time I threatened to pack up and leave. I didn’t even mean it.”

“I know,” said Frank, “but I also know that Lupin and Sirius are far more dramatic than you and my mother. And that says quite a lot.”

Harry and Neville laughed, but Lily and Alice didn’t. Lily was distracted, eyes on her empty wine glass.

“Could I ask you a favor?” Her voice was distant, like it was coming from whatever other world she was staring into.

“Whatever you need, love,” said Alice.

“I know you’re both busy but could I ask you to take Harry back to your house? Just for the next two or three nights?”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “I’m not going anywhere, not if Remus is coming here.”

Lily’s temper flashed in her green eyes. “Remus will be distraught — He’ll be angry at Sirius, at your father, probably at me, too, and all of that is going to carry over into the full moon. I won’t have you in this house for that.”

“I was here after the Quidditch World Cup,” Harry shot back. “I was _helpful_ after the Cup. And I know way more about potions and healing magic now than I did then. I’m not going anywhere.”

Before Lily could continue the argument, Neville said, “I want to be helpful, too.”

“Neville,” Alice said in a soft voice, “That’s very admirable of you, but we were planning to take you home tonight anyway.”

“What? Why?”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “It’s your birthday tomorrow. Your gran’s quite insistent you come home. The whole family’s expecting you.”

“Even Uncle Algie?”

“Arrived this morning. Aunt Nellie’ll be there tonight, and there’s about four more aunts and uncles arriving first thing tomorrow. You know how important your birthday is to the family.”

“But after my birthday, I can come back?” Neville asked. 

Alice and Frank looked Lily. 

“Of course,” Lily said, “just give Remus a few days to recover, and you and Harry can come back and —”

“I’m not leaving,” Harry interrupted. He folded his arms over his chest and sank into his seat, as if he could plant himself in the house. “You always do this — something bad happens, so you send me off to Sirius’s, or make me stay with Ron, or leave me here with Picksie and Mellie while you and dad are actually out there fighting — I’m not leaving just because it’s going to be a hard full moon for Uncle Remus. Not when I can help.”

Harry felt a little glad that James had gone with Sirius. If his father had been the one to ask Harry to stay with the Longbottoms, Harry might have done it. Even though Harry had no interest in going to Neville’s and meeting all of Neville’s strange, extended family, Harry would have taken one look at James’s eyepatch and glumly agreed to anything James asked. But Harry was far too familiar with Lily’s temper to back down. Their anger was too well-matched these days. Lily had always said she wanted Harry to be the best of her and James, so of course this was how it had happened. Harry had inherited her fury, just as much as he’d inherited her courage and kindness.

Lily’s nails clicked against the table as she searched for an argument that would send Harry off with the Longbottoms. Finally, she admitted defeat. “I guess with James gone, I’ll need help preparing potions.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “And I’ll have a lot to do on the house.”

As soon as dinner was finished, they set to work. A morose Neville packed up his trunk and went home with his parents, and Harry picked a dozen magical herbs with Picksie while Lily went from room to room, casting Strengthening Spells on the windows and doors. It felt a little like she was preparing the house for an assault, which Harry supposed was not entirely inaccurate. He’d read enough about werewolves to know they were drawn to the scent of humans. If Remus was going to spend the full moon out on their property, the wolf might try to get into the house. 

When Harry and Picksie had picked all the herbs Lily requested, Harry went to help Mellie. Bedding was stripped from every room and thoroughly washed. The mattresses were dragged outside and washed as well, which Harry thought odd until the breeze blew all the floral smells of the garden through the yard and Harry understood — they were removing as much human scent from the home as they could.

He glanced up at the moon overhead. It looked full already, but Harry knew the day before and after the true full moon looked similar. The moon was also especially large, and Harry wondered if it was closer to the earth for this cycle. Remus’s aches were probably pretty bad tonight, and if Remus was already upset because of his fight with Sirius, it would be a terrible full moon indeed.

Harry finished hanging the linens with Mellie and got sent inside to see what he could help Lily with. She had just finished putting the last of the herbs into jars and labeling them. She looked at Harry with a tired smile. “Well, we should get some sleep. We can take care of the potions in the morning, and tomorrow night will be quite long.”

Harry thought he might be too worried to sleep, but he knew Lily was right. “Where will we be tomorrow?”

“I haven’t decided.” Lily gnawed on her lip as she started stacking jars into their cabinet of potions ingredients. “It feels a bit short notice to ask Molly to put us up, and I don’t want to make a fuss at Headquarters. I thought about the cottage in Hogsmeade, but it’s not nearly so well protected as our home. I thought about the Leaky Cauldron, but that seems unsafe, especially after what Frank told us about Florean Fortescue —”

“But wouldn’t the Burrow or Headquarters be safest? I’m sure Mrs. Weasley would understand. Regulus Black would understand, too. Actually, anyone at Headquarters would understand. They all care about Remus and want him to be safe tomorrow. That’s why Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom took all the trouble they did. It’s alright to ask other people for help, even if it’s for Remus. Everyone in the Order understands.”

Lily laughed softly, but when she turned, her smile was strangely sad. “When did you turn into your father?”

Harry’s ears grew warm. “I dunno — Dumbledore’s the one who told it to me, not Dad.”

“James was the one who told me, on the last day of our fifth year, that I didn’t have to struggle alone, just because I thought no one would understand what I was going through as a Muggle-born.” She laughed. “Actually, him encouraging me to reach out to others for help is what sent me on a date with Benjy Fenwick. I don’t think he was too happy about it….” Lily’s green eyes glistened like she was on the edge of tears. But as soon as Harry noticed them, she’d wiped them away.

“Bed, really. We should try and rest.”

As Harry had imagined, it wasn’t easy. He kept his bedroom window open for Hedwig to use to hunt, but now Harry was using it, listening for any sound of James and Sirius returning with Remus. It was possible they would Floo back, but as they’d Apparated away, he assumed they’d Apparate back.

Harry knew he had to have fallen asleep, because sunrise came way too soon, but Harry also did not feel rested. Still, he thought lying in his bed a useless way to continue the morning, so he trooped downstairs for breakfast and found Lily already sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. Mellie was putting the finishing touches on her usual large breakfast.

Apart from the cup of coffee, Harry could see in her eyes that Lily had hardly slept. They’d both passed the night awake, worried.

“Harry,” Lily said as he sat down, “if you ever become a werewolf or a vampire or a hag, promise me you won’t worry your father and I like this.”

“Sure, Mum.” Harry thanked Picksie for the breakfast as she set the plates in front of them.

Mellie set two glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice on the table and said, “And what is we house-elves to do while there’s a werewolf running up and down the garden, tearing up the ivy and vegetables?”

Lily looked down at Mellie. “Didn’t James used to do this with Remus long before we were married? Before Harry and I came along?”

“They is only using the house once or twice, when Mister and Mistress Potter is out. Picksie and Mellie is with Mister and Mistress Potter and is only cleaning up the boys’ mess when the Potters is coming home.”

“Then I suppose you can stay with Harry and I at Headquarters. Maybe you’ll be a good influence on Kreacher.”

“Hmph. Mellie knows Kreacher and Kreacher’s lying, filthy masters. Yes, Mellie will be an excellent influence on Kreacher.”

Harry and Lily exchanged a worried glance, but short of asking James or Sirius for help, there was little they could do about Mellie.

Lily finished her breakfast and reluctantly took the Floo Network to Grimmauld Place to talk to Regulus. She worried about leaving Harry alone at the house, but Harry promised her he would be alright and besides, she wouldn’t be gone long. While she was gone, Harry started brewing some of the Potions they would need, in case the night didn’t go as well as they all hoped.

He got out his mother’s recipe book — Picksie had to help him by Levitating it down from the top of the cupboard — and flipped through it until he found “The Essence of Dittany.” It wasn’t an especially complex potion, as there were few ingredients, but it required careful preparation, and adding silver changed the recipe slightly. He found his mother’s notes in the margins of the book. Sometimes she disagreed with the instructions. In particular, the author of the book insisted Dittany be whole when added to the cauldron, since it was meant to close wounds it should not be cut itself. Lily had crossed it out, added some colorful language about what she thought of the author’s intelligence, and wrote, “chopped.” At the end of the recipe were the instructions for adding silver. Harry followed them with incredible care.

It wasn’t nearly as stressful as he was used to Potions being. His mother’s notes helped, certainly, and brewing in the warmth of his own kitchen without Snape’s glare or the stress of an examination looming over him helped. The stress of knowing that if he got it wrong someone could get hurt and die was a very different sort of stress, and actually helped Harry to focus.

Lily came back through the fireplace as Harry was getting out a funnel so he could pour the few ounces of liquid left in cauldron into a tiny vial. 

“Oh, good,” Harry said. “I was hoping you’d be able to help me pour steady. The cauldron is kind of heavy, and I’m worried I’ll tip over the vial.”

Lily frowned. “Harry, at least pretend to be suspicious — I could be anyone.”

Harry, who was halfway into a cupboard beneath the sink, searching for an appropriately sized funnel, thought he would probably not have been able to get to his wand if Voldemort himself had strolled into the house.

“Sure, Mum — er, when’s my birthday?”

“Anyone could know that.”

Harry pulled out the right funnel and pulled himself out of the cupboard. “Alright, then, the Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, right? If you weren’t in the Order, I couldn’t say that. I’m not a Secret Keeper.”

“I could be a traitor in the Order, pretending to be your mum!”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “How long are you going to make me interrogate you? Or can we finish this dittany?”

“You’re worse than your father,” she grumbled, but set about helping Harry finish the potion.

She questioned him about the recipe and its instructions, and praised him for doing so well and being so careful. It made Harry wish Lily would be his Potions teacher. She’d do so much better than Snape. But he also knew that she had tried teaching once, and it had been hard for her and his father to be apart for so long. He couldn’t imagine them having to be apart in the middle of the war. Maybe Lily should teach Potions and James could teach Defense, and everyone would be happy.

Harry had just put the stopper on the essence of dittany when a gentle chime flitted through the house, moving from room to room as if it were carried by an invisible spectre. Lily and Harry each felt the tension leave their shoulders. Their relief, however, was short-lived.

A silver Irish Wolfhound whipped across the yard and through the kitchen window. “James’s splinched,” Sirius’s voice said. “We’re in the rose garden.”

“Picksie —” Lily said, but the petite house-elf had already vanished with a crack.

Harry yanked the cork stopper out just as Picksie reappeared with James, Sirius, and Remus. The first thing Harry saw was red as blood spilled out of James’s leg. His stomach turned, but he was able to ignore his uneasiness. He knelt by his father and steadily dripped the dittany over the open wound, just as he had for Sirius two years ago, after Sirius had spent the full moon locked in the attic with Remus.

As the wound steamed and closed, Lily helped James into a chair. James grunted his gratitude, and Lily looked up at Sirius and Remus for answers.

Sirius was disheveled, certainly, with a fresh red and purple bruise spread across his cheek, but otherwise he appeared fine. It was Remus who looked far worse than Harry had ever seen him.

His clothes were worn, seams beginning to tear. He looked thin, unusually gaunt in the face, even with the full moon less than a day away. Harry wondered if Remus was eating well, or if his occasional meals with other members of the Order were all he was getting. His hair seemed paler somehow, like it hadn’t decided if it was graying or not. All of him, really, seemed washed out. Harry had seen Remus looking sickly before a full-moon before, but this was different. He looked more like when he had spent a week in Azkaban. Harry couldn’t imagine anything worse than dementors, but something must have happened to Remus. This wasn’t just because of the full moon.

“Sorry.” James’s weak voice cut through the stunned silence. “That was my fault. I shouldn’t have Apparated without warning.”

Lily’s green eyes went wide. “You just Apparated back without telling Remus what you were doing?”

“He wasn’t going to come anyway,” Sirius snapped. “If we hadn’t Apparated here and dragged him into the property line, he’d be halfway to the Alps by now.”

“I wasn’t going to the Alps,” Remus grumbled and leaned against the wall. He offered no more excuses, though, only stared out the kitchen window.

Lily and Harry waited for more explanation from James or Sirius, but no one was forthcoming.

“Well,” Lily finally said, “We’ve cleaned the house to get rid of as much smell as possible, and I’ve already spoken to Regulus; Harry, the elves, and I will stay at Headquarters. I’ve put Strengthening Charms on the windows, and Harry just brewed up this dittany. I’m about to set to work on Blood-Replenishing Potions and —”

“I’m not staying,” Remus grunted. He had enough sense to look embarrassed, and added, “Thank you, Lily, but I’d rather be alone tonight.”

“Why?” asked Sirius. “Do you want to run into a stray hiker or campsite if you disappear into the woods? Or were you really going to lock yourself in the Shrieking Shack? And who was going to help you if you hurt yourself? And then what were we going to do when you didn’t turn up for Harry’s birthday because you’re bleeding out on the floor of some dirty old —”

“Sirius, stop, please,” James said. He rubbed his good eye. The exhaustion of the previous evening was as obvious on him as it had been on Lily. “Look — Remus, you’re already here. You know this property — and so does the wolf. We also know for certain that there won’t be any humans nearby. You’re being stubborn about this for no reason, other than you’re upset with Sirius.”

“I’m not upset with Sirius —”

“You punched me in the face!”

Remus did not look ashamed at this. Harry thought he looked rather smug.

“Just stay, please,” James said.

Remus didn’t answer. 

Harry was well-acquainted with how stubborn Remus could be. There were not many things Remus was stubborn about, but finding those things was like running head-first into a thirty-foot marble wall. Harry didn’t know what this stubbornness was, but he knew that Sirius’s direct approach wasn’t going to fix anything.

Before James could press Remus further, there was a loud crack and Mellie appeared, a tray in her hands. “Morning tea,” she said simply, and marched into the dining room.

Her command was hard to ignore. Everyone moved to sit down at the dining table, including Remus, though Remus did not reach for any of the tea sandwiches Mellie set out for them. Harry thought Remus looked like he could do with a good meal, and wondered why Remus was resisting. Even the cuts of fish Mellie put down should have been appetizing to a werewolf, but Remus abstained.

The meal passed in an uncomfortable silence. Remus did not take even a sip of the tea Mellie poured for him, not until Mellie came back and scolded him for being rude, and was this how a guest treated their host, and wasn’t her tea and cold meats good enough for him, as she piled his plate with fish. Reluctantly, Remus ate, but continued to stare sullenly at his tea.

Surprisingly, it was James who lost his temper first. “Really, Remus — you’re not going to say anything?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know — you could ask Harry how his O.W.L.s went. You could ask Lily if she’s feeling better since you haven’t seen her since Bellatrix Lestrange cursed her. You could make fun of me for wearing glasses and an eyepatch. We’re not upset with you for what you said to Tonks —”

“I am,” Sirius said.

James ignored him. “— We’re upset because of how you’re behaving. This isn’t like you.”

Remus wiped his face with his napkin. “My mission’s been going fine, too, thank you so much for asking.”

Sirius snorted. “Like you’d tell us if we asked.”

“I’m asking,” Lily said, and glared at Sirius. “I want to know how you’ve been doing. I want to know if you’ve been getting enough to eat, where you’ve been sleeping, and who you’ve met.”

If Lily thought she might dodge some of Remus’s stubborn anger because she wasn’t part of the group who dragged him home, his bitter tone proved her very wrong. “I’ve been eating fairly regularly — at least, I steal what I can with the pack — and if it sounds like their thieving might get someone hurt, I take dinner with someone in the Order. We usually sleep outside, especially close to the full moon when the hunting instinct arises. They’re a lovely pack of friends, really, or they would be if they weren’t so suspicious of me. They’re not especially fond of people who associate with wizards, you see.”

The cold silence that followed was infectious. Even Harry, who didn’t have any real reason to be upset with anyone at this table, felt like he could snap at Remus. He didn’t know why Remus was being so rude. It was as if he wanted Lily to get upset with him.

If that really was Remus’s plan, it worked. Without another word, Lily gathered her dishes and took them into the kitchen. James looked torn between scolding Remus or going after Lily. He settled on the latter and closed the door to the kitchen behind him.

Harry knew that Sirius could sulk in silence for days if need be, so if anyone was going to talk Remus out of his temper, it was up to him. The trouble was, he didn’t know what Remus was upset about.

“I got seven O.W.L.s,” Harry said, deciding it was the safest topic of conversation.

Remus took a moment to rein in his anger. When he said, “Congratulations,” it certainly sounded earnest. At least Harry wasn’t going to be a target of Remus’s temper.

“I got an ‘Outstanding’ in Defense, actually. Professor Tofty asked me if I could produce a Patronus for a bonus point, so I think that’s what really pushed me over the edge. It was the easiest I’ve ever done — all I had to do was look at Umbridge and imagine her getting sacked.”

Remus and Sirius both laughed. It was, Harry thought, a good start. 

“So which courses will you continue next year?” Remus asked.

“Defense, definitely. I guess Transfiguration and Herbology. Charms, which just about everyone does, right?”

Remus nodded. “No Potions? I thought you wanted to pursue an Aurorship?”

Harry swallowed down a lump in his throat. “Well — yeah, but I had to get an ‘O’ to take the N.E.W.T. class, and I only got an ‘E.’”

“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry —”

“S’alright,” Harry said quickly, “McGonagall said I only need five N.E.W.T.s, so maybe I can substitute it with Care of Magical Creatures. I don’t really fancy another year nearly burning my face off raising Blast-Ended Skrewts, or getting scratched up by Bowtruckles but it’d be better than another year of Potions with Snape.”

Sirius frowned. “Snape? I assumed he wasn’t teaching next year.”

“Why wouldn’t Snape teach?”

“I don’t know. I imagined he had some business for the Order, or Voldemort wanted to keep him closer after the Ministry business. Why else would Dumbledore hire —”

The kitchen door flew open and Lily stood in its frame, her face as angry as it had been on Christmas evening when she’d seen the scars on the back of Harry’s hand.

“You said _what_ to Nymphadora?”

Remus was too startled to be angry. “I — I don’t know what you mean.”

“Lily —” James reached for her arm, but she shook him off and stalked over to Remus.

“Is James telling the truth? That a young woman poured her feelings out to you and told her that her feelings were nothing?”

It didn’t take long for Remus to find his anger again. “I didn’t say that, I just told her I didn’t have feelings for her. I didn’t realize that was a crime. I think you’d understand, the number of times you turned James down.”

“I turned James down because he was arrogant and full of himself. Because he was rude, and hexed other students, and thought himself better than everyone else. I never turned him down because I thought being Muggleborn made me somehow less worthy.”

Remus flinched. “That’s different.”

“I don’t think it is. I think I had to sit through a very uncomfortable conversation with my new mother-in-law, warning me that my children might be Squibs because of my blood. I think I had to listen to quite a few comments from other people who thought I didn’t deserve to marry into this family, that I was ruining a bloodline. But I had enough sense to know they were wrong. I had friends who told me they were wrong, and I trusted them. You have every right to turn Nymphadora down, but you don’t get to sit there and feel sorry for yourself about it. You don’t get to hit Sirius because he’s worried about you. You don’t get to push us out of your life like you’re some martyr for Dumbledore. James and Sirius can coddle your feelings all they like, but I’m done. You can either keep listening to what people like the Death Eaters say about you, or you can start listening to your friends, who actually know you, who care about you and want to see you happy.”

Remus dropped his eyes to the plate of half-eaten fish. He didn’t look scolded. His hand tightened around the napkin on the table and his lips pressed together so tightly they went white. But Lily didn’t wait for Remus to argue with her. She turned and walked back into the kitchen, reminding Harry vividly of the girl who had told a much younger James Potter that she was impressed his broom could get off the ground with such a fat head attached to it, then stormed off.

James sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You know she’s right, Moony. You’re not —”

“She’s not right,” Remus snapped. He struggled to find words for a moment. “I didn’t turn down Dora because I’m a werewolf — at least not entirely.” His brown eyes flicked to Sirius, but returned to his fish so quickly, Harry thought he might have imagined it. “I’ll stay tonight,” he finally conceded, “and I’ll stay for Harry’s birthday, but I’m leaving first thing the next day. I’ll need to get back to the pack.”

Harry helped Mellie clean up the tea. She didn’t seem bothered by the conflict at all. Harry supposed that after a hundred years of Potter family arguments, one more didn’t upset her. It was Picksie who wrung her hands in the floral apron she wore over her teacloth and scurried back and forth throughout the house, asking if she could get anyone anything and trying to ease the tension.

Though the argument had been insightful for Harry — he’d had no idea that Tonks and Remus were romantically interested in each other — it hadn’t improved anyone’s mood. Sirius and Remus were still not speaking to each other, and Lily had said her final word on the matter so she wasn’t interested in further discussion. James spoke to everyone like he was already apologizing for something, and between him and Harry, at least they managed to get Remus to eat a proper meal before moonrise.

When the sky turned a deep shade of orange, James, Sirius, and Remus went outside to find a nice spot in the garden to start their evening. Picksie and Mellie Apparated Lily and Harry to Grimmauld Place, startling Regulus and Kreacher, who were finishing their own supper in the kitchen. Thankfully, Mellie did not attack Kreacher on sight. She did, however, comment that it was so good to see Kreacher, and how was his mad Mistress Walburga? Kreacher did not take the greeting kindly and wailed a comment about filthy blood-traitors. For a moment, Harry thought Kreacher was going to jump on Mellie and attack her, but Regulus hastily ordered Kreacher to go clean two of the spare bedrooms. The elderly house-elf disappeared with a pop.

“Sorry,” Lily said with a smile that held absolutely no apology, “I can’t order Mellie to be polite; she’s not bound to the family anymore.”

“If Mellie wishes,” Mellie said, “Mellie could be finding Kreacher now and telling Kreacher all the secrets Mellie knows about the Black family. Kreacher must be wanting to hear everything Sirius is telling Mellie since he left Grimmauld Place.”

Regulus’s face paled, but his voice was steady. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d really rather you didn’t.”

Instead of heading upstairs to the bedrooms, Harry and Lily stayed in the kitchen, near the fireplace. Regulus sat with them, though there wasn’t much to talk about. Harry didn’t remember falling asleep, and he didn’t remember putting his head down on the table, but when he heard new voices in the kitchen, he sat up suddenly, and found the back of his hand slick with drool. Harry wiped it on his trousers and greeted Fabian and Gideon Prewett.

They’d stopped by to make a report for the Order, but sat down to chat. Fabian teased Lily, asking what she’d done to get kicked out of the house. She ribbed him back for never marrying at all.

Gideon congratulated Harry on his O.W.L.s; he’d visited the Burrow and heard about Ron and Hermione’s exams as well. Over tea set by Picksie — Harry wondered where Mellie had got to, and hoped she wasn’t antagonizing Kreacher — Harry chatted with the Prewetts about Bill and Fleur’s upcoming wedding, news from the Ministry, and progress the Order had made. The wedding aside, it wasn’t an especially cheerful conversation.

When they left, Harry checked the time on his wristwatch. It wasn’t quite four in the morning.

“Hour and a half to go,” Lily said with a sad smile. “Won’t be too long. But happy sixteenth birthday.”

Harry didn’t feel like it was a very happy sixteenth birthday.

“Happy birthday,” Regulus said. “One more year until adulthood, then.”

The way he said it unnerved Harry, because it didn’t sound like an especially cheerful congratulations. But of course, nothing Regulus ever said sounded particularly cheerful.

“You should sleep,” Lily said. “Both of you.”

“Are you going to sleep?” Harry shot back.

“I don’t feel tired at all.”

“Right.” Harry snorted. “You shouted at Remus this morning because you’re not tired at all.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “You’re all always so careful around Lupin. It’s hard to imagine you shouting at him.”

Lily’s face turned red. Harry wondered if it was anger or embarrassment. “I shouted at him enough when we were prefects. It wasn’t terribly hard.”

“Why don’t you both sleep,” Regulus suggested. “I don’t do much around here but read, answer the door, and keep the portraits calm, so I think I can keep watch by the fireplace for another couple of hours easily.”

Harry yawned and stretched, but didn’t move to go upstairs. Neither did Lily.

“It’s weird that the house is so empty this summer,” Harry said. “There were so many people here last year.”

“Last year the Order was set on protecting that prophecy.” Lily stared into the embers of the fire as she spoke. “We aren’t so concentrated in London anymore.”

“It’s a shame the prophecy was lost.” Regulus’s eyes were trained on Lily, like he was gauging her reaction. 

Lily didn’t even move. “A shame,” she echoed, gaze still steadily trained on the fireplace. “Our real intent was to catch Voldemort, though, or at least prove to the Ministry he was back. At least we did that.”

Regulus waited for Lily to say more, and Harry waited for Regulus to press her more. Neither happened.

Instead, Regulus said, “Well, I certainly don’t mind the quiet. Besides, plenty of the Aurors still come through,” said Regulus. “They’re rather overworked, I think. The parlor hasn’t seen so many naps since my grandfather was still alive and falling asleep into his tea twice a day. So if you don’t want to move all the way to bed, you can at least use the parlor.”

Harry and Lily did not take Regulus up on his offer. The parlor was so far from the fire-place. Even though they knew they wouldn’t hear anything until sunrise, it seemed important to wait, to be ready.

At 5:20, Picksie popped into the kitchen to let Harry and Lily know she’d seen the sun crest the horizon. Lily cautioned them to wait another fifteen minutes — home was west of London; the sun would take some time to get there. Harry paced the kitchen while they waited, reciting every spell he could recall from his lessons with Sirius. He was no Healer, but he felt confident he could fix up cuts and set broken bones.

At 5:35 exactly, Lily decided it was safe to return home. She called for Mellie, who appeared without any scratches or sign she and Kreacher had been fighting. Harry was only mildly disappointed. Picksie and Mellie Apparated Harry and Lily back to Styncon Garden. Fortunately, it did not take them long to find James, Sirius, and Remus, but unfortunately, they were more hurt than Harry had expected.

Harry knew that after the Quidditch World Cup, when Remus had spent the full moon in the attic, there would be injuries, because the wolf did not like enclosed spaces. He’d expected things to be much better if Remus had the freedom to run around the property. He hadn’t quite realized what Lily had meant when she’d said Remus’s anger would carry over into the full moon.

It was clear, on sight, that Remus and Sirius had fought. Both were covered in bites, scratches, and bruises. All the stories Harry had heard from his father about being an Animagus had suggested that they had fun running around with a werewolf. It had sounded more like play. These injuries were not from playing.

Lily took charge of Sirius’s wounds and the few James had, using the dittany mixed with silver to close the worst of the wolf bites. Harry’s heart pounded, knowing she was trusting him with Remus’s wounds. Bites from a dog that weren’t magical in nature should close easily with the simple Healing spells Sirius had taught him. 

He traced his wand over the broken skin, reciting the incantation as clearly as he could. He watched the wounds close, the skin knit back together, as neatly as if he’d poured a bottle of dittany over it. Once he’d stopped all the bleeding, he noticed Remus’s knee had been tweaked out of place. He didn’t know how to fix it, but he did at least know how to set it. Even half-conscious, Remus yelped as the joint popped back into place.

Picksie and Mellie turned the rarely used drawing room into a small care unit. It was closer to the kitchen than the bedrooms, and it had a couch. They left Sirius and Remus there to rest. Harry hoped if they woke up at the same time, they wouldn’t start fighting again.

James, whose only truly serious injury had been the leg-splinch that reopened, was fine once Lily cleaned him up and got a Blood-Replenishing Potion into him. None of them were as skilled as Sirius at finding and repairing internal wounds, but between James, Lily, and Harry, they were fairly certain Sirius and Remus were not going to die from their injuries.

“I’ve never spent the whole night trying to keep them from tearing each other apart.” James slumped into a chair at the kitchen table and gratefully drank the tea Mellie put into his hands.

Harry dated the last of the fresh Blood-Replenishing Potions Lily had brewed that morning, just in case. It seemed like in the last two days they’d gone through enough salamander blood to fill the pond. 

“They’ll be alright,” Lily said, as she cleaned the cauldron. 

“I don’t know that they will.” James took off his glasses and buried his face in his hands. “They’ve never fought like this — never, not even….”

“Not even when Sirius told Snape about the Whomping Willow?” asked Harry.

James visibly shuddered, but nodded. “They didn’t speak for a month. Not one word to each other. Personally, I blame it all on Snape, following us around all the time, so determined to prove Remus was a werewolf — he might have deserved it, but Remus certainly didn’t.”

“How’d they make up?”

James looked at Lily. “That was your doing, wasn’t it?”

Lily put away the last of the potions supplies and joined James at the table. “Mostly. Remus wasn’t talking to Sirius which honestly made him a much better prefect. But he was lonely. I encouraged him to forgive Sirius. No one’s perfect. I’d honestly been thinking of my friendship with Severus, how we’d stayed close even though we’d gone different ways at school. Of course, it wasn’t long after that I stopped talking to Severus.”

“If they can stay friends after something like that, surely they can figure this out too,” Harry said.

James didn’t look optimistic. “I think this fight was fifteen years coming. I’m worried it might take them fifteen years to talk it out. That’s a lot of full moon scuffles, and I’m getting too old to break them up.”

Fifteen years ago, when Voldemort had come to kill Harry, Remus believed Sirius had been the one to betray them, not Peter Pettigrew. If it had been as simple as Sirius forgiving Remus for doubting him, maybe they’d have moved on. But Sirius had trusted Peter because he thought Remus was the traitor, since Remus was a werewolf.

Harry was fairly certain Remus and Sirius had forgiven each other. That part was easy for them. They were both kind people who wanted the best for their friends. But Harry knew them well enough that he did not think they’d forgiven themselves, not when the cost was that James, Lily, and Harry had all nearly died.

“But what does all that have to do with Tonks?” Harry asked.

James laughed. “Nothing, really. She was just the catalyst. Remus and Sirius were fine as they were, or at least as fine as they could be. Her confessing her feelings forced Remus to make a real decision about not just his feelings for Tonks, but also his feelings for Sirius. I think Remus wants to keep not making a decision, which is why he’s running. Sirius wants Remus to make a decision, one way or another.”

“An immovable object meets an unstoppable force,” Lily murmured.

“What?”

“Muggle saying.”

James yawned and put his glasses back on. “Well, some birthday, huh, Snitch?”

Harry shrugged. “Better than listening to Uncle Vernon’s jokes about Japanese gophers.”

James laughed and Lily tried very hard to frown.

“Your uncle isn’t that bad.”

“No, not at all,” James agreed. “Drills is a truly fascinating industry. Lots of bits to talk about.”

“Oh! So you did learn something!”

“Enough to make a cheap —”

The fireplace came to life with green flames, and Cedric and Tonks stepped through once more. This time, they had their hands up, prepared for the interrogation.

“I know we weren’t expected,” Cedric said, “but we had a minute away from the office. Thought we’d wish Harry a happy birthday.”

James raised an eyebrow. “And did you also know last night was the full moon?”

Cedric looked surprised. Tonks looked guilty.

“Maybe,” she mumbled. “I did bring Harry a gift.”

Once James and Lily were satisfied that Tonks and Cedric were truly who they said they were, they enjoyed a relatively pleasant morning tea. Tonks gave Harry a large box stamped with “WWW” and beneath that, “George’s Compendium Box of Pyrotechtrix.” Inside was a collection of fireworks with various labels, such as the “Whammy Rocket” or “Crystal Incantation.”

Lily raised her eyebrows. “Did you discuss this with Sirius in advance?”

Tonks grinned. “Sure did.”

“Why?” Harry asked. “Wha’d Sirius get me?”

“You can open your gift from Sirius when he wakes up,” James said. 

“You know you are setting all of these off before you go back to school,” Lily said.

Harry had every intention to share these fireworks with Ron, but he knew better than to argue with Lily over it. Instead, he considered how he might arrange his school trunk to smuggle them in.

Cedric’s gift was significantly smaller, but the wrapping was a similar color and pattern. “We actually went to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes together. I pulled some strings as a Triwizard Champion to get a custom order.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “They give Triwizard Champions special treatment?”

“Our money did start their shop,” said Harry, “so yeah, I guess they do.”

“Since when?” asked James. “We could have backed them. I’d have given them a loan easily — We could even give them Marauders merchandising rights. A whole line of products, attached to the Weasley name, two Hogwarts legends under one store!”

“Hey,” Sirius said. “That’s my brand, too.” He limped into the kitchen and reached for one of the scones Picksie had made. His bruises had a yellow and green tint to them, but otherwise he looked alright.

“How do you feel?” Lily asked.

“Like I got smashed by a troll,” Sirius said around the scone. “Why are you doing presents without me? Tonks, we coordinated our gifts specifically for this.”

“I didn’t know how long you’d be asleep,” she said. “Some of us have jobs we have to go to. We can’t all be disinherited layabouts.”

Sirius threw what was left of his scone at her, then winced when his shoulder protested the motion. “Sorry. I didn’t plan on going claw-to-claw with a werewolf last night.”

Lily used her wand to Summon a jar of Burning Bitterroot Balm from the cupboard. “This’ll help with your joint pain. Though maybe don’t apply it at the breakfast table.”

“Sure — but presents first, since Harry’s already opened Tonks’s gift.”

James flicked his wand and Summoned three presents to the kitchen table. “I suppose we could do ours now, too.”

The box from Sirius was similarly sized to the gift from Tonks. When Harry peeled back to label, he found a second box of fireworks, labeled “Fred Weasley’s Basic Blaze Box.”

“Now you’ve got a set,” said Sirius.

“And none of this,” Lily repeated, “is going back to school with you.”

Again, Harry didn’t argue. But he also didn’t agree. He only reached for the gifts from his parents. They were a bit smaller than the boxes of fireworks, but certainly heavier. When he peeled back the wrappings he found two very thick books, not unlike the tomes Hermione might carry around during the school year to read for fun. It was an unusual sort of present; usually his gifts had something to do with Quidditch, but these did not seem to be about Quidditch at all.

The first was titled, _Advanced Defensive Theory: A Critical Analysis of the Merrythought Method_. Even just a passing glance at the table of contents revealed this book to be more complex than any book Harry had been assigned on defensive spells in school.

“Since you got an ‘O’ on your Defense O.W.L., we thought you might like something like this,” Lily said.

“It’s not as flashy as dueling,” James added, “but you know almost as much as your mum and I do, really, at least about spells. The thing you’re lacking is experience and we can’t really give you that, but we thought we could give you this.”

“We also sort of… disagreed about this gift.” Lily pressed her lips together and tightened her hands around her mug of coffee. “I want to be very clear that this isn’t because of Voldemort, and has nothing to do with the war. Simply… you’re good at this subject, and we know you want to learn more and be an Auror and we thought this would help.”

“Thank you.” Harry didn’t know what else to say. The pages in the book were smooth; it was clearly a newer publication, which was already uncommon among wizards. He didn’t recognize the author — Adrina Duester — but if it was a book his parents approved of, it was probably good.

The second book did not seem to have a title, and when Harry opened it, James leaned forward eagerly.

“Your mum and I put this one together ourselves. Transfigured just about all the ink from those berries you and Cedric picked to make it, too. It’s got your family trees on both sides, here —” He pointed to a divet carved into the edge of the pages, and Harry realized that there were tabs of sorts down the sides of the books, marking each section. The family tree was denoted with a tree, unsurprisingly, and several pages beyond that was a section with a leaf, then one with a cauldron, one with what looked like a star, and one with a Snitch.

“My family tree doesn’t go back very far,” Lily said, “but we had a good bit of fun going around to all the portraits and figuring out who was who, and of course getting stories from Mellie.”

“That section,” James pointed to the leaf, “is all the instructions for the garden — instructions for spells, growing seasons, a list of good almanacs, all sorts of things. The next one is your mum’s potions recipes. She copied them all out for you, with her notes.”

“Even the Wolfsbane,” Lily added. “You’ve been begging to learn that one for years.”

“Then there’s some of my own Defense spells and jinxes — your mum even added a few of her own that have been helpful in a pinch. I picked Sirius’s brain for some, too, and he added a few.”

“The last one is, well, mostly your Quidditch record and some baby pictures. It’s not anything especially exciting,” Lily said, “but we wanted you to have it, in case you ever have a Quidditch player of your own you want to share stories with.”

Now Harry really didn’t know what to say. He wanted to say thank you, but he didn’t have a voice. He was grateful, completely and truly, but he also knew why his parents were giving him this gift now. He knew there was every chance this could be the last summer he had with both his parents. This book was, possibly, their way of making sure he’d still have them with them while he was at school, or if anything happened to them in the war. It was hard not to cry, just looking at his father’s handwriting next to a sketch of a Wiggentree, but Harry didn’t have any interest in crying in front of Tonks and Cedric.

“Thanks,” he managed, and hoped he didn’t sound ungrateful.

Lily, at least, seemed to understand. She stacked the boxes of fireworks on top of each other — carefully — and then made a stack of the books. “Why don’t you take everything upstairs? Get it put away. I’ll go check on Remus and James can help Sirius with the balm. Cedric, Tonks, you’re welcome to stay as late as you wish, but I don’t want to keep you from work.”

Tonks looked up at Lily, her grey eyes so much softer than Harry had ever seen in Sirius or Regulus. “Can I help?”

Lily looked to James and Sirius for an answer. She’d been the one to check on him physically after the full moon, but they were the ones who knew where he was emotionally.

Sirius shrugged, even though the motion was clearly painful. “He hasn’t punched her yet, or tried to tear her neck open, so she’s probably safer in there than me.”

“A boggart would be safer in there than you,” James said. 

“Here,” Cedric said, “I’ll carry up these.” He grabbed the boxes of fireworks. “You get the books,” he nodded at Harry. “Tonks, we can leave for the Ministry in a few minutes.”

Though Harry knew taking Cedric upstairs meant he wouldn’t have the moment alone Lily had been offering, he was grateful he didn’t have to carry such precious, flammable books on top of such volatile boxes.

He warned Cedric to skip the fourth stair and, once in his room asked Cedric to set the fireworks on his desk. Harry put the books on his nightstand, on the other side of the room. He put the Defensive Theory book on top so that, at least for the moment, he wouldn’t have to look at the hand-crafted gift from his parents. 

“You never gave me your gift,” Harry said, as Cedric greeted Hedwig, who was still settling in from her night’s hunt.

Cedric turned with a smile. “I didn’t — it’s probably better this way. I have a feeling Sirius might ask you to abuse it.”

Harry didn’t know what that meant and, heartache overtaken by curiosity, he opened the small package Cedric handed him.

It was a quill and a bottle of ink. Harry didn’t find the gift particularly interesting until Cedric grabbed one of the letters from Harry’s desk and flipped it over.

“Can I write on the back of this?”

“Sure.”

Cedric pulled, from his other pocket, a bottle of ink almost identical to the one Harry held. He dipped in a quill and signed his name on the back of the page. “It’s Disappearing and Reappearing Ink,” he said.

Harry stared at Cedric’s name. It did not fade, not even a little. “When does it Disappear?”

“When I want it to. The thing is, we have to decide on a code word. I asked Fred and George about ways to send encoded messages. I didn’t want something just anyone could read, especially now that I work at the Ministry. I wanted a way we could write letters while you’re at school without worrying about who was reading them. Fred and George said they’d worked with ink that only appeared in response to a specific code before and they could make it for me. I haven’t picked the code yet, because I wanted it to be something we’d both remember.”

Harry was stunned by how much thought Cedric had put into the gift, especially for someone who hadn’t seen the Marauder’s Map. Of course Fred and George were familiar with ink that appeared and vanished on command. Harry had the map they’d given him sitting in his trunk.

He supposed “Mischief Managed” wouldn’t work terribly well for a secret code shared between him and Cedric.

“I dunno,” Harry said. He cast about his room for some sort of inspiration. There wasn’t much he and Cedric had in common, other than nearly dying together. His eyes settled on one of the books on his desk, one his father had given him ages ago, _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Surely Cedric, having been a Seeker and Captain for Hufflepuff, had read it too.

“ _Oh, the thrill of the chase as I soar through the air?_ ” Harry suggested.

With a grin, Cedric finished the couplet. “ _With the Snitch up ahead and the wind in my hair_.”

Cedric placed both bottles of ink on the desk and waved his wand over them and his scribbled signature. “ _Obscure upon these words that follow: Oh, the thrill of the chase as I soar through the air; and reveal when spoken by my fellow: With the Snitch up ahead and the wind in my hair._ ”

The ink on the parchment and within the bottles vanished. Harry picked up one of the bottles, pointed his wand at it, and said the second half of the couplet. It filled immediately.

“Easy enough,” Harry said. “I see what you mean about Sirius abusing it.”

“I know it isn’t as flashy as fireworks —”

“No, it’s great,” Harry assured him. “It’ll be nice to have someone to talk to about… y’know.”

“I do. And I won’t tell you who to trust but… you’ve got other friends than me. Friends who are a bit closer, who aren’t under Scrimgeour’s constant watch.”

The more Harry thought about it, the more he was certain he’d have to tell Ron, Hermione, and Neville everything. They’d notice him sneaking away for private lessons with Dumbledore, at the very least. Having Cedric remind him actually made it easier. There were others he could go to, and if it did seem like Ron or Hermione or Neville didn’t understand, Cedric would listen.

“Thanks. And… speaking of Scrimgeour, shouldn’t you get to work?”

Cedric checked his pocket watch and winced. “If Tonks and I are much later, they’ll assume the Death Eaters got us. Happy birthday, Harry.”

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Dear Hermione,

I hope you’re having a good time at the Burrow. It was mostly quiet here, just Neville and I working in the garden or getting summer homework done. Mum and Dad have been teaching me defensive spells, too, and Sirius has been teaching me Healing magic. It’s been really helpful, and I’ve learned a lot. It’d be fun to teach some stuff to the D.A. again, but we’ll have to see how busy we are with N.E.W.T. classes, I guess.

Sorry I couldn’t have you and Ron over for my birthday, but it was the full moon the night before, so we were really busy. I really want to see you in Diagon Alley. Mum and Dad said the Ministry wants to give us extra protection when we go, so we’ll have to sort that out, but hopefully it works out that you and Ron can be there too.

If it doesn’t, I’ll see you on September first!

— Harry

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Ron —

Tonks and Sirius gave me the most amazing birthday present. I can’t wait to show it to you when we get back to school. I’m sorry you couldn’t be here, but it was the full moon and all, so we had to have a quiet day. 

Let me know when your mum wants to take you to Diagon Alley. I know it’s hard right now with everything going on, but the Ministry’s offered Mum, Dad, and me extra protection so that might make her feel better about bringing you along. I want to see Fred and George’s shop with you.

I saved the best news for last:

I got Quidditch Captain! I can’t wait to play again. I feel like I’ve hardly been on a broom all summer. It’s going to be awesome to have practice again. I promise not to be like Wood and lose my head about winning games.

See you soon, one way or another.

— Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated!


	6. Draco's Detour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco gives his mother the slip on their trip to Diagon Alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New perspective! So exciting!
> 
> Less exciting -- I got a new job! This is a huge deal for me. Except, last time I had a job like this, I wasn't able to write while I was working. The job wore me to the bone and I didn't have the time or strength for the AU. A lot of things are different this time -- for one, I have all the chapters outlined from here to The Epilogue -- so I don't think I will have to go completely silent like last time, but I wanted to give you the heads up that I may be breaking from the two-week pattern.
> 
> That makes this a really good time to follow the twitter or tumblr for the au so you can get updates about chapters as I write them, know when they're in beta-mode, and enjoy my silly ramblings about HP while I write! Both are under the username @hpeveryonelives (ao3 is being weird about the direct links; sorry I tried).
> 
> Without further ado, onto the chapter.

Malfoy Manor had become a busy place this summer, but Draco did his best not to participate. He kept to himself as often as he could. His bedroom, with its high ceilings and gold and silver leaf decor over white marble, was a relative safe-haven, even though being alone with his thoughts was not ideal.

He spent most of his time attending to one of two mental tasks: either Occlumency or, as Draco had begun thinking of it, “The Plan.”

Occlumency was easy, at least in concept. He had to practice not thinking, and hope that when Aunt Bella tried to read his mind at breakfast the next morning, he could conceal his thoughts from her. It had been difficult at first, and he’d seethed as she teased him about Pansy Parkinson or his struggles in Care of Magical Creatures. The worst breakfast had been the one where she’d uncovered a memory of a letter he’d nearly sent to Remus Lupin last year — he’d thrown it away, it was nothing, really — but it didn’t stop Bella from going into one of her worst tirades. She’d suggested if Draco wanted to learn something from a vicious creature, he could spend an evening with Fenrir Greyback.

Draco shivered just from the memory of it and tried to clear his mind in the way Occlumency required, but it was hard to get Bella’s shrill, furious voice out of his head.

So instead he turned his attention to the Plan. It wasn’t a great plan, not yet, and he would need to have reserve plans, just in case one of them failed. So far, he only had the outline of the first one.

Draco paced his bedroom slowly. By now, he was familiar with exactly how many steps it took him to circle the room, as familiar as if it were a prison. Ten from bed to window, where he could look out at the pure white peacocks that strutted around the yard and shrieked as shrilly as Aunt Bellatrix. The sun was just beginning to rise and Draco rubbed his eyes. He did not realize he had been up all night. 

It was five more steps to his desk, where old textbooks were stacked and blank parchment laid out. Draco had initially sat down to write out his ideas, but he’d found himself afraid to put anything to paper. Instead, he kept all his thoughts in his head, which, while allowing him some measure of secrecy, certainly made it more difficult to review details.

But secrecy was a necessary measure. His mother had tried, fervently, to make him reveal his Plan, but he knew he didn’t need her help. She probably thought his silence a sign of incompetence, and it only made him angrier. He resented each time she asked to help or offered advice. He had a plan, and the sum of it was rather good; it would just require some very difficult magic Draco wasn’t sure he could perform.

But there was magic he was certainly good at — the Imperius Curse, for one. While Draco had been unable to resist the Imperius Curse in Moody’s class, he’d become adept at performing it under Aunt Bella’s tutelage. Macnair and Yaxley could have done with a lesson from Moody.

The Imperius Curse, however, was only a backup plan. Draco knew it could be unreliable. The victim could be discovered or they could lose their mind resisting and his entire plan would unravel. And, he would somehow need to communicate with the Imperiused person without being detected. It was too risky. Useful, but on its own it would not suffice.

It was only three steps from his bedroom to the door, which opened up into his own private receiving area. It had been something of a nursery when Draco was younger, and as he grew, it turned into his own private parlor. When his parents guests brought their children to dinner parties, their children would spend time up here, with Draco. Occasionally that meant Crabbe and Goyle, who were as thick as they were wide and did little other than eat the snacks the house-elf had provided. More often, it was Leonardo and Theodore Nott who visited. While Leo was a few years older than them, Theo was Draco’s age, and they’d been close as children. The books on the shelves were ones they held a common interest in — books about dark creatures, diagrams of mysterious artefacts, or mysterious, unexplained phenomena in wizarding history. In addition to the books, the shelves were full of dark artefacts and preservation jars of dark creatures, not unlike Snape’s dungeon back at Hogwarts.

Beneath the window was a tea table, where the house-elf was carefully setting out tea. Though her hands shook so badly the silver clattered loud enough to give Draco a headache, he felt relief. If Winky was setting tea up in his room, there would be no formal breakfast downstairs. That meant the Dark Lord was away on business.

Worse than Occlumency lessons, worse than Unforgivable Curse lessons, worse than mulling over the Plan, was dining with the Dark Lord. Draco had met him for the first time last Christmas, when he’d come home from Hogwarts for the holiday. While the Malfoys had never been exuberant celebrators, the Dark Lord’s presence had made for an exceptionally damp and dreary holiday, especially since the Dark Lord had been furious with his recent failure in seeking out the prophecy about Harry Potter. This summer, since the prophecy had been destroyed and Lucius Malfoy arrested, had been far worse.

The door opened without warning and Draco immediately steeled both his mind and nerves, prepared for a Legilimency attack from Aunt Bella, or something worse, but it was only his mother in the doorway. Usually she knocked, but she appeared to be in quite the hurry.

“Good, you are awake. And you’re dressed — are those yesterday’s robes? — never mind, Draco, we need to leave quickly.”

Draco noted the wide-brimmed hat on her head and the purse in her hand. “Where are we going?”

“Diagon Alley,” she said impatiently. “You need your school things.”

Draco flushed. He had told his mother he’d be going to Diagon Alley today, but he’d meant it more as a polite way of informing her he’d be out of the house. He had not meant it as a request for escort. He had other things to take care of, things he couldn’t do under her watch. “I don’t need you to take me, Mother. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Hurry up, eat your breakfast. It will take us quite some time to get through the security at Gringotts — and you —” Narcissa Malfoy’s mouth curled in disgust as she turned to the house-elf, “— that racket is entirely unacceptable. If you can’t even serve a meal without banging dents in the silver, what are you good for?”

Winky the house-elf bowed quickly, stammering out a flurry of apologies and promising to appropriately punish herself. She wasn’t so different from Dobby, though she burned meals less often, which Draco appreciated. Winky had joined the Malfoy family after the Triwizard Tournament. She’d needed employment after Barty Crouch, Jr. had been killed, and the Malfoys had been suffering with a small wizard staff for two years. It was a drain on comfort and finances, as far as Draco was concerned. Winky had been an excellent solution, until the Dark Lord had borrowed her shortly after the winter holidays. He hadn’t said why, only that he needed to “check on something important.” Winky hadn’t been the same since she’d returned.

But his mother had a point. House-elves were not meant to make a scene, so Draco had little sympathy as she vanished from the sitting room, presumably to punish herself.

There was little Draco could do to get out of going to Diagon Alley with his mother, so, with as much sulk as possible, Draco ate his breakfast and followed her down to the entrance. Her heels clicked against the white tile flooring, which had the unfortunate effect of alerting Aunt Bella to their departure.

She appeared in front of the door almost as quickly as if she had Apparated there, though it was impossible to Apparate within Malfoy Manor.

“Where are you two off to?” Aunt Bella asked in a falsely sweet voice.

Draco did his best to empty his mind as his mother answered.

“Just getting Draco’s school things, Bella. It’s a shame you can’t join us.” Narcissa tried to step past her but Bella grabbed her arm.

“Oh, come now, little sister. It wouldn’t be terribly hard — I could just take a lock of your hair and put it in a little potion. Draco and I could have a lovely shopping day together.”

If Narcissa was at all terrified of the idea of her sister stealing her identity, Draco couldn’t see it on her face. She was as polite and impassive as ever. “If it would please you, Bella, by all means, take Draco to Gringotts. He’ll need new robes from Madam Malkin’s, and his N.E.W.T-level textbooks from Flourish and Blotts, and fresh potion supplies from —”

Bella let go of Narcissa with a roll of her eyes. “You can’t even indulge me in a little joke?” She stepped aside and let Narcissa open the door. “Have a good time with mummy, Draco.” She blew him a kiss. “Do let me know if she takes any detours she shouldn’t.”

This last statement sacrificed her falsely sweet voice for a terrifyingly honest snarl. Draco hurried after his mother without even a good-bye.

Bella had watched Narcissa like a hawk this last month. Draco didn’t know the details of it, but he knew his mother had gone to Snape for help and Bella had been displeased. Draco had been displeased, too. He resented the way his mother bent so easily under the Dark Lord, under Bella, and he resented the way his mother didn’t believe he was capable of fulfilling the Dark Lord’s order. She didn’t believe he could do it, and she’d gone to Snape — Snape of all people — for help.

True, Snape had been Draco’s favorite teacher for years. Snape was head of Slytherin and had always been helpful to Draco in both Defense class and Potions class. Snape had a deep knowledge of the Dark Arts that Draco respected and admired. But that seemed like a lifetime ago.

Since then, Draco had lost his father and he knew it was Snape’s fault. Snape was the one who had told the Dark Lord that the prophecy was stored in the Department of Mysteries. Snape was the one who told the Dark Lord that there might be more he hadn’t initially overheard, and that the Dark Lord should find a way to claim it, perhaps finding the secret to killing Potter. Snape was the one who had been the bait to lure Potter to the Ministry and — worst of all — all the Death Eaters knew Snape was still fond of Lily Potter.

Draco didn’t know which disgusted him more. That Snape loved a Mudblood or that Snape was responsible for his father’s sentence in Azkaban. Or, worse than that, Snape was still on Voldemort’s arm, at least as close as Bella was. Draco was going to change that. He may have feared Bella, but he was eager to make her proud, to make the Dark Lord proud, and to avenge what was done to his father. Failure was not an option.

Narcissa Apparated them to London, which Draco supposed was one benefit of going with his mother. He had another year before he would be seventeen and could even take his Apparition exam. They entered Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron, as most wizards did. Draco was used to Tom, the barman, greeting them with a certain amount of grace. Today, Tom hardly looked up from the glass he was polishing.

The unusually empty bar should have been a clue to Draco, but he was still stunned to see how much Diagon Alley had changed in the few short months since the Dark Lord’s return was made public.

Every shop window had been covered in Ministry of Magic leaflets and posters. It was impossible to window shop; all someone would get out of it would be a sense of paranoia, terrible advice on defending oneself from Dark Wizard attacks, and maybe a sneer from an Azkaban wanted poster. The ice cream shop next to the Leaky Cauldron was boarded up and a notice had been posted saying, “Please owl Auror Marcy Longfellow with any information on the whereabouts of Florean Fortescue.” It was marked with the gold Ministry of Magic seal. The windows of the shop next door were plastered in Death Eaters. Aunt Bella’s face looked strange to Draco. She was laughing maniacally, and her eyes were crazed. She was so haughty at home. Perhaps not as poised as his mother, but she’d shown a measure of control, and even the photographs of her and Narcissa from their youth showed her arrogance. That wasn’t to say Draco had never seen her madness, he’d just only seen it in her rage, not her laughter. He shivered, unsure which was worse.

Narcissa and Draco hurried on to Gringotts at the end of Diagon Alley. They passed several stalls that had cropped up over the summer, advertising defense against werewolves, Inferi, dementors, and even Dark Wizards themselves. Draco wondered how some magical broach could possibly determine who was or wasn’t a “Dark Wizard,” but he gave the booth as wide a berth as possible.

The most interesting shop and most noticeable, by far, was the brand new “Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.” Everything in the windows flew, flipped, or flashed. A bright purple poster with gold lettering heralded their latest product: “U-No-Poo.” It was an excellent parody of the Ministry of Magic posters plastered in Diagon Alley and just for that, Draco almost found it funny. He had little interest in supporting a Weasley business, but there were a few things advertised in that shop window that caught his eye. Their advertisement for their recently imported Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, for one, looked particularly useful. Draco made a note to pick up a catalog when they passed by it again.

As his mother had predicted, it took them quite a while to get their money from Gringotts. Draco wasn’t fond of goblins, but at least they didn’t throw the Malfoys distrustful looks, no more than they did any other wizards. The only thing that the goblins had an interest in was keeping their clients’ gold safe and ready for use. The Malfoys were still important clients. That didn’t protect them from all the wand-waving, probity-probing, and sight-scanning all clients had to go through before being allowed to access their vault. 

Once they’d secured enough gold to last them a fair while, they made their first stop at Flourish and Blotts. Draco had received an Outstanding on his Potions O.W.L., so he picked up _Advanced Potion-Making_. He also got the new Defense textbook, _Confronting the Faceless_. Draco didn’t know who the new Defense teacher would be, but the book certainly looked more interesting than the one Umbridge had assigned. He also guessed by the title that they would do something they’d never done in her class: actually cast defensive spells.

Draco was also taking Charms and Transfiguration at N.E.W.T. level so he picked up those textbooks as well. He’d achieved O.W.L.s in a few other subjects, like Astronomy and Herbology, but he didn’t have much interest in taking those classes.

Truthfully, Draco didn’t have much interest in any of his classes. Potions and Defense had always been interesting subjects to him, but even those didn’t matter much in the face of the task he’d been given. If he’d come to Diagon Alley without his mother, Draco might not have even stopped for his school books or the potions supplies they picked up next. He had interest in one thing, and it was around the corner in Knockturn Alley.

But Draco certainly wasn’t going to take his mother with him for that task. He’d have to find a way to slip out of her sight.

Draco was just considering telling his mother he needed to run back for a bag of gnarl quills he’d forgotten to grab from the potions shop, and surely she could go along without him, when she pulled him into Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions.

The shop bell jingled as they entered, and the bustle of Diagon Alley vanished, replaced by the click of a sewing machine and the gentle sound of a harp. Madam Malkin stood from her desk as they entered and the clicking noise stopped. She took off her glasses to get a better look at them.

“My, Mister Malfoy, how you’ve grown. I imagine your school robes hardly fit anymore. Come, come, let’s get you fitted.”

“He’s outgrown his dress robes as well,” Narcissa said, as they walked to the full-length mirrors and the fitting stool. Draco ignored her hand and stepped onto it without assistance. “Have you anything new in stock?”

“I have a fresh design set from Berlin, arrived just last week. We can look over the patterns and see if there’s anything to Mister Malfoy’s taste, perhaps even something for yourself, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Thank you, but I’m just here for Draco today.”

“You didn’t need to be here,” he muttered.

“I couldn’t let you go about Diagon Alley by yourself, Draco.”

She reached out to stroke his hair, but Draco ducked away from her. He held his arms out and let Madam Malkin pin the robes on and tried to look serious. The face looking back at him in the mirror just looked petulant.

“I’m not a child, in case you hadn’t noticed, Mother.” He stared at himself as he spoke, watched how his brow furrowed like a child’s might before a tantrum and tried to compose his features. It only served to make him look tired. He’d always been pale, but he thought he looked lighter than usual. Maybe the lighting in here was just awful. He tried again to sound grown up. “I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone.”

Madame Malkin clicked her tongue at him as she pinned the sleeve of his new robe to the shoulder. His pale skin turned pink as she chided him, like he was a toddler instead of sixteen.

“Now, dear, your mother’s quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering on our own anymore. It’s nothing to do with being a child —”

One of the pins caught in Draco’s shoulder and he flinched. His exhaustion and his frustration overwhelmed him. “Watch where you’re sticking that pin, will you!”

Madam Malkin huffed irritably as Draco stalked from the single full-length mirror to the three-fold mirror that would show the robes from all sides. He caught sight of four people standing at the door and he did not think his mood could get worse, but it did.

“If you’re wondering what that smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in.”

Madam Malkin hurried over with her tape measure as Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Neville Longbottom each drew their wands. Hermione Granger stood behind them, trying to pull them back, insisting it wasn’t worth the fight, but she only had two hands.

“I don’t think there is any need for language like that!” said Madam Malkin. “And I don’t want wands drawn in my shop, either.”

“Yeah, like you lot would dare do magic outside of school,” Malfoy snapped. “Really, Longbottom, what curse do you think you’re going to get off on me? You’re not even pointing your wand the right way.”

To Draco’s delight, Longbottom did in fact check to make sure he was holding his wand correctly.

“That is quite enough!” Madam Malkin said. “Madam — Please —” She looked back at Narcissa for help, as if Draco would somehow listen to her more than Madam Malkin. 

Narcissa strode over and the disgust she’d shown at Winky’s poor service was visible once again as she looked over Potter, Weasley, and Longbottom. “Put those away.” There was no anger in her voice, only hard, cold, immovable steel. “If you ever attack my family, I shall ensure it is the last thing you ever do.”

Potter stepped forward. He seemed to wear the white scar marring his dark forehead like a proud badge. His green eyes flashed with arrogance. “Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?”

Madam Malkin looked like she was going to have a heart attack. Her hands flew to her chest and all the color drained from her face. “Really — you shouldn’t accuse — dangerous thing to say — wands away, please!”

But Potter did not stow his wand.

“I see,” Narcissa said in a low voice, “that being Dumbledore’s favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won’t always be there to protect you.”

Draco’s heart raced. His ears grew hot, but his face seemed cold. It was not a confession, barely even a warning, but Draco knew she meant those words, more seriously than Potter could even fathom.

Potter looked around the store, mock surprise fueling his arrogance. “Wow, look at that. He’s not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband.”

Rage burned in Draco, hot, white, eating at his exhaustion. He stepped forward, forgetting Madam Malkin had not finished pinning the hem. He stumbled over the excess fabric.

The shop bell rang as the door opened one more time. Draco’s mother caught his shoulder, holding him steady and holding him back. Then her hands tightened and her nails dug into his skin. Draco looked up and saw why.

“… won’t be long.” Sirius Black turned from whoever he’d been talking to in the doorway and surveyed the scene in Madam Malkin’s shop: the boys’ wands drawn, Hermione trying to talk them down, Narcissa composed and Draco furious, and poor Madam Malkin, who decided it might be best just to ignore it all together, and began fixing Draco’s hem.

Sirius didn’t look too well himself. Half of his face was washed in purple, the yellow edges of a bruise fading into his pale skin. He adjusted his leather jacket and Draco saw his hands, too, were marked with red and purple blotches. Draco thought he’d offer a bag of galleons to whatever Dark Wizard had cursed Sirius Black so completely.

But once Draco got past the injuries, he was struck by just how much Sirius looked like his mother and his aunt. He’d only seen Sirius Black at a handful of Hogwarts Quidditch games, but here, as Sirius and Narcissa stared each other down, it was impossible to deny just how alike they looked. Draco had never, not for a minute, considered that Sirius Black was related to him,. Now he could not see how he had missed it.

Before Draco could decide what to do with this information, Madam Malkin, determined to carry on as if nothing was wrong, started to roll up his left sleeve. “I think this left sleeve should come up just a bit more, dear, let me just —”

“Ouch!” he slapped her hand away, though she had not pricked him. “Watch where you’re putting your pins, woman!” Mother — I don’t think I want these anymore.” Draco yanked the robes off, pins and all, and tossed them to the floor. 

“You’re right, Draco.” His mother kept her eyes on Sirius, like she hadn’t decided if she knew him or not. “Now that I know the kind of scum that shops here, I think we’ll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting’s.”

Draco pushed past them, knocking against Ron as he did so. He pulled the door of the shop open to the street and was startled to find a very large shape in his way. Carefully, he edged around Hagrid, and without looking back to see if his mother was following, walked up the street to Twilfitt and Tatting’s.

This time, Draco and his mother did not fight over whether Draco should or shouldn’t be able to do his shopping alone. They maintained a tense silence, commenting only on the fit of the school robes and the design of the custom dress robes they ordered. Narcissa ordered a set of dress robes for herself, as well.

Narcissa slipped the box of robes into the bag of books. “Why don’t we take care of Quidditch supplies next?”

It was a thoughtful peace offering. She knew Draco liked Quidditch, and he would be able to make decisions about the purchases she could not, since she didn’t know very much about the sport. But Draco only bristled. He hadn’t thought once about Quidditch since his last match against Hufflepuff. That was before O.W.L.s, before his father had been arrested, before he’d been given his monumental task. 

Narcissa noticed his displeasure and suggested an alternative. “If you don’t need Quidditch supplies this year, then our last stop is getting owl pellets for Ulysses, and I believe he might need a new traveling cage. That old one’s gotten a bit tarnished, hasn’t it?”

“I don’t need to buy pellets for a stupid hand-me-down owl,” Draco snapped.

Draco had seen his mother angry plenty of times, but he’d never seen her angry at something he’d said. 

“Ulysses is a family owl, not a hand-me-down. You should be proud to own him — I thought you were proud of him!”

“Finish the shopping yourself. I’ll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron.”

“No —” She reached for him, but Draco had already slipped out of her reach. He did not head straight for Knockturn Alley. Instead, he slipped through the crowd and right into the Quidditch shop. He could hear his mother calling for him, and he waited until she had entered the shop to slip out without her noticing. Draco was content to let her search among the broom racks and practice robes. He had more important business.

His first stop was Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. He knew better than to go inside. He did not think Fred and George Weasley would give him any business, not if they knew it was him. But he snatched one of the catalogs from the stand outside the shop and hastily flipped through it. The description of the Instant Darkness Powder he’d seen demonstrated in the shop window certainly sounded useful. The Decoy Detonators weren’t bad either. He didn’t see much use for the section titled, “WonderWitch,” and the Muggle tricks looked utterly ridiculous. The fireworks, while flashy, probably wouldn’t help him. But some of the prank products seemed practical for Draco’s needs. Even the Skiving Snackbox might be helpful if he needed to make an inconspicuous getaway.

Draco glanced over his shoulder one more time to make sure that his mother hadn’t followed him then hurried back to Knockturn Alley.

Draco had been to Knockturn Alley a few times before with his father, and most often, they stopped at Borgin and Burkes. There were other pawn shops on the street, but none staffed by respectable wizards who were willing to make discrete purchases. The Ministry had tightened rules on Dark Artefacts in recent years and the Malfoys had needed to pass along certain items. At the time, Draco hadn’t realized the half of what the objects could do. Now, he wished he had them. They might make his job much easier.

But the Plan didn’t involve dark objects. It involved one specific object, and a strange event that had occurred last spring. Fred and George Weasley had shoved Graham Montague into a Vanishing Cabinet located somewhere within Hogwarts. Montague had, as the cabinet’s name suggested, Vanished. Draco hadn’t cared too much about Vanishing Cabinets, even after Montague’s disappearance. It wasn’t until Montague came back that Draco’s interest was piqued.

Montague had talked at length about his experience, to anyone who would listen. He would moan and complain about the Weasley twins, and say that while he was trapped inside the cabinet, he’d heard bits of conversation from Borgin and Burkes. That had intrigued Draco, who was well aware one could not Apparate nor Disapparate on the Hogwarts grounds. And when Draco had been set his task by the Dark Lord, he had begun further research on Vanishing Cabinets.

Sure enough, when Draco entered Borgin and Burkes, the large cabinet he’d recalled from his childhood visits was still there. 

Mr. Borgin sat at his shop counter, examining a glass box that appeared to be empty. Draco wondered if it housed an invisible object or a curse, but he didn’t dwell on it long. He had a more pressing task ahead of him.

“Ah, good evening, Mr. Malfoy.” Borgin did not smile. He set the box aside. “Are we selling today? I must say, I’d be very impressed if your family had managed to hold onto anything of interest in the wake of the ah… events of the summer.”

Draco stiffened. His upper lip curled, much like his might have were she here. “Actually, I’m interested in this Vanishing Cabinet.”

Borgin’s eyebrows lifted, ever so slightly. “A useful object in these troubling times. You know how it works then? You simply step inside, Disappear, and Reappear when you are ready.”

“I’m well aware of how most Vanishing Cabinets work. Are you aware that this cabinet has a twin?”

Borgin stroked his chin. “Twin cabinets are quite rare. If it does indeed have a twin, its price is double.”

“You misunderstand me. I’m not paying for this cabinet.”

Borgins eyes grew very cold. “Then, Mr. Malfoy, I’m afraid our business is concluded.”

“No, it isn’t. You see, this cabinet has a twin, but the twin doesn’t work. I’m going to fix it. You’re going to tell me how. See, a friend of mine got stuffed into the twin, and kept hearing conversations in this shop. I’d like to repair it, to restore the passage between the cabinets, allowing them to be used for travel. So tell me: would you know how to fix it?”

The shopowner’s lips twitched. He clearly did not like Draco’s business dealings as much as he’d enjoyed his father’s. “Possibly. I’ll need to see it, though. Why don’t you bring it into the shop?”

“I can’t. It’s got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it.”

Borgin licked his lips. He seemed almost grateful to have a way out. “Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn’t guarantee anything.”

Draco had expected resistance, and he felt a bit of thrill as he began to roll up his left sleeve. “No?” He stepped closer and revealed the blood red mark on his arm: an image of a human skull, with a snake winding around the jawbone, and extending from the teeth like a tongue. “Perhaps this will make you more confident.”

Borgin’s face paled. This — this was what Draco wanted. He wanted the power that came with serving the Dark Lord. He wanted the power to command, to control. He wanted people to listen to him, to follow his orders. 

“Tell anyone,” Draco said, “and there will be retribution.” He added the only threat he could think of that might be worse than the Dark Lord himself. “You know Fenrir Greyback? He’s a family friend. He’ll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you’re giving the problem your full attention.”

“There will be no need for —”

“I’ll decide that.” Draco rolled down his sleeve and buttoned the cuff. “Well, I’d better be off. And don’t forget to keep that one safe.” He gestured to the cabinet. “I’ll need it.”

Borgin’s voice still shook. “Perhaps you’d like to take it now?”

“No, of course I wouldn’t, you stupid little man. How would I look carrying that down the street? Just don’t sell it.”

“Of course not, sir.” Borgin bowed, as deeply as he had when Lucius Malfoy had demanded secrecy on some of his sales, or asked things to be held for a time, until the Ministry reduced their raids.

“Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother. Understand?”

“Naturally, naturally,” and Borgin bowed once more.

Draco left in a hurry. He hoped his mother would be waiting for him at the Leaky Cauldron. He didn’t want to spend another minute in Diagon Alley. The thrill of intimidating Borgin faded not long after stepping out of the shop. The pounding in his ears was slowly turning into a pounding in his head. The success of step one was washed over by the pressure of what was still to come. He tried to have confidence in his Plan, but he knew there were many parts that could go wrong. 

It did not take him long to reconnect with his mother. She was in the Leaky Cauldron, anxiety barely visible in the tight lines around her mouth. For a moment, Draco felt guilty. Not for making her worry about him — he could handle himself — but for leaving her alone in Diagon Alley. What if she had run into Sirius Black again, and he hadn’t been there to defend her?

But neither said a word as they left and Apparated home.

Draco went straight to his room, determined to avoid Aunt Bella. His mind was buzzing so loudly he knew he would not succeed in an Occlumency test right now. He distracted himself with his new school things, and flipped through his Charms textbook.

Right there, in the course introduction, tucked into the list of standard charms was the Protean Charm. Draco had heard that before…. Yes, that Mudblood Granger had used it to communicate with her stupid group of Dumbledore loyalists.

Draco slipped a galleon out of his pocket and flipped to the page detailing the Protean Charm. He had the beginnings of a Backup Plan, just in case the Plan went poorly. If the Vanishing Cabinet was not enough, if he needed help from outside Hogwarts, he could use a charmed galleon for communication, just as Potter had. Someday, he’d have to thank Potter, Weasley, and Granger for all their help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated!


	7. The Slug Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets an invitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! I was already up late grading essays (it's 1:15am here) so I thought why not post a chapter while I was awake? It's not terribly different from the original, but there are a few fun deviations.
> 
> Enjoy! It's a dark moon tonight, so have a safe and spooky night!

Harry was burning up inside, but he didn’t know who to talk to about it. He knew, with absolute certainty, that Draco had been up to no good at Knockturn Alley, and he also knew he could not talk to anyone about it.

Harry’s parents worried about him constantly and he could not imagine a worse way to break their trust than by slipping away under the Invisibility Cloak to Knockturn Alley. 

Actually, he could imagine one thing. He could have run off to face Voldemort alone without telling anyone. He imagined that would be worse than sneaking off to stalk Draco Malfoy, but probably not much.

James and Lily didn’t even know that Harry had run into Draco at all. Sirius had said nothing of the incident in Madam Malkin’s — Harry figured it was to spare himself the embarrassment of recounting an encounter with Narcissa, but he wasn’t sure. They hadn’t talked about it.

The Potters hadn’t talked about much that had happened in Diagon Alley, actually. 

Hagrid had been assigned as their additional security, and it was he and Sirius who had taken Harry to get school supplies with his friends while James and Lily had gone shopping for James’s eye. Harry was glad for an opportunity to spend time with his friends, and glad they didn’t expect him to join him while they found a replacement eye for James. Harry was not sure he could have handled that guilt.

So James and Lily did not talk about their shopping trip, and Harry did not talk about his. The best they could do was discuss some of the exciting products they’d seen at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. James and Sirius had insisted to Fred and George that a “Marauders” line could be worked in, and Fred and George said they would be happy to receive potential product from those who had, in a way, been their muses.

But that brief moment was one bright spot on an overall very bleak summer.

Remus had left as soon as he was well enough to Apparate. He hadn’t gone with them to Diagon Alley, which, while not strange, was disappointing. Harry wondered if he would come back at the end of the month for the next full moon. It would be nice to have Remus there to see him off to Hogwarts, as he had every year before, full moon permitting.

Harry found himself wishing he could confide his concerns about Draco in Remus, more than anyone else in his family. James and Lily would worry, as they always did, as they had to as his parents, and scold him for running off. Sirius might be safe to tell, but Sirius tended to overreact, and might tell James and Lily. But Remus would let Harry talk, keep a level head, and ask the right questions to help Harry truly understand what he, Ron, Neville, and Hermione had seen.

The cloak hadn’t totally covered all four of them — it fell to their knees — but Harry was fairly confident they hadn’t been seen. Knockturn Alley had enough nooks and crannies to duck into to avoid being caught. Unfortunately, though they hadn’t been seen, they hadn’t seen very much themselves, as Hermione had been very quick to point out.

“Anyone can purchase from Borgin and Burke’s without making it about You-Know-Who,” she’d said.

Harry had wanted to argue that yes, anyone could, but anyone who was purchasing from Burke was highly suspicious by default, but that was when James and Lily had approached to ask if he was ready to leave, and he hadn’t been able to finish his conversation with his friends.

He was disappointed about that on a second count as well: he’d hoped he could tell them the prophecy. The more Harry thought about it, the more he knew he needed to share his secret with Ron, Hermione, and Neville. Diagon Alley just hadn’t provided him with a good opportunity. He hoped the Hogwarts Express might work better.

The morning of September first arrived much sooner than Harry had expected. He was at once eager to get back to school with his friends and nervous to leave his parents. He’d enjoyed being home with them, all guilt and secrets aside, and he worried what trouble they would get into when he and Neville weren’t at home.

Harry, while packing up his things, recalled a lengthy letter his father had sent him during his second year. James had described the struggle of being in hiding, unable to help, but doing it because they knew it was what they needed to do to keep Harry safe. Harry felt like going to Hogwarts was like going into hiding, disappearing into Dumbledore’s protection. He imagined the irony of asking his mum to write every day, and told himself he couldn’t worry about his parents. Worrying wasn’t actually helpful.

Getting to King’s Cross Station was more work than it ever had been before. Harry remembered the year Regulus Black had first escaped Azkaban, when his family had stayed at the Leaky Cauldron to be escorted from there. This time, the Potters — and Sirius and Neville — simply Floo’ed straight to the Leaky Cauldron on September first, and were met by the Longbottoms and two Aurors.

“Cedric!” Harry said in surprise.

“Williamson,” James said, and shook the other Auror’s hand.

Williamson wore a nicely tailored red velvet suit, and had long white hair tied back in a ponytail. He shook James and Lily’s hands with equally strong grips. “Mr. and Mrs. Potter. A pleasure.” He did not sound especially pleased. “Did you have a smooth trip?” he asked, and quirked a thick white eyebrow.

“Smooth as a puffskein’s fluff,” Lily answered.

Harry wondered for a moment if his mother had mixed up a Muggle phrase with a wizard phrase, but Williamson nodded once, and they were off. It hadn’t been a silly phrase — it had been a code.

Once outside, they ran into Frank and Alice Longbottom, who were similarly given a question and responded with a slightly odd answer.

“Weather holding?” Williamson asked.

“Tight as a grindylow’s grip,” Frank had answered, then hugged Neville tightly.

Alice kissed his forehead and led him to a black car with tinted windows. “We’ll head to King’s Cross in style,” she said, and together, all nine of them climbed inside the magically expanded Muggle automobile.

“Alright?” Cedric asked as he slipped into the seat beside Harry. “Haven’t heard from you.”

“Alright,” Harry said. “Been busy. Sirius has been teaching me Healers’ stuff.”

Cedric looked impressed.

“What about you?” Harry asked. “I thought you don’t get dangerous missions while training.”

“I get the public missions,” Cedric said, “and escorting Harry Potter to King’s Cross is very public. It’s a good thing these windows are tinted, or we might end up on the front page of _The Daily Prophet_ as the Ministry’s gold star partners. We’ll have to be careful when we get to the station.”

King’s Cross was as crowded as ever, and Harry could see Aurors walking across the station, some in robes, some in Muggle plain clothes. He recognized a few, like the Prewett brothers, and a woman in an eye-patch that he’d met just before his trial last year — Marcy, maybe?

“I wore it better,” James grunted as they swept past her and towards the back of the train, where Harry could see Ron and Hermione waving to him.

James had purchased a monocle in Diagon Alley, since glasses over a glass eye was arguably redundant, but he didn’t wear it much. He still preferred his glasses, which ultimately helped to hide the fact that one of his eyes no longer moved with the other. The color in each eye, at least, was identical, thanks to Sirius’s excellent transfiguration work. At a passing glance, James looked no different. It was only if Harry tried to hold his father’s gaze for too long that his stomach turned with guilt.

“No sign of Tonks,” Sirius said, glancing around.

“She’s on another assignment,” Cedric said. Despite his warning about _The Daily Prophet_ , he’d stayed with the Potters, while Williamson melted into the crowd, keeping the platform safe alongside the other Aurors.

Lily kissed Harry’s cheek. “You’ll be safe.” 

Harry wondered if she was trying to reassure him or herself. 

“You too, Mum.” Harry hugged her. It wasn’t their first hug since he’d found out about the prophecy, but it was the first hug that Harry truly meant, in all its length and tightness. He did not want to let his mother go. She squeezed back, harder than she had all summer, and Harry felt some of the weight in his chest lighten. At least she wasn’t still suffering the effects of Bellatrix’s fiery curse, if she could give and receive such rib-crushing embraces.

Harry blinked back tears, determined not to cry in front of all these people, in front of his friends, in front of Cedric. Now, on the brink of saying goodbye to his parents for four months, all of his bitterness and guilt felt ridiculous and childish. There were so many bigger things to worry about.

When he and Lily finally separated, James clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll see you for Quidditch, yeah? Wouldn’t miss your first game as Captain for the world.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. End of November.”

He recounted. Three months. In three months he would see his parents, and he would know they were safe once again.

“You’ll kick Slytherin’s ass,” Sirius said.

Harry forced himself to grin, and started to ask if Remus would be there, but he cut the question off before it reached his tongue. Remus hadn’t come home for the full moon this past week. He’d said he was spending it with other werewolves. They’d all hoped it was true, and if it was, Harry wasn’t sure Quidditch games would be an option for Remus this year.

“Maybe I’ll get stationed at Hogwarts that day,” Cedric said. “Be nice to catch a Quidditch match again.”

“That’d be great,” Harry said.

The train whistle blew. Harry gave another round of hasty hugs, as did Neville, and they hurried to the back of the train.

Their reunion with Ron and Hermione was full of hugs, but unfortunately brief. Harry was just about to ask if they could find a private car — he was slowly working up the courage to tell them the prophecy — when Hermione apologized, but she and Ron had to go to the prefect’s meeting.

“Oh,” Harry said. “Alright.”

“We won’t be too long,” Ron said. “Long as the new Head Boy and Girl don’t drawl on half as long as what’s-his-name did.”

“His name was Troy,” Hermione snapped. “We just saw him a few months ago — how could you already forget it?”

Ron shrugged, and his snappy response was lost as he and Hermione disappeared down the carriage.

Neville looked at Harry, as if Harry was the one who was going to find them an empty carriage. Well, he’d certainly do his best.

Harry slipped past a trio of girls who seemed to be gaping like they’d caught Viktor Krum in a locker room, and it wasn’t until Harry moved past them and they turned that he realized they were gaping at him. Harry took a moment to register that they were unreasonably short and hurried along with Neville.

They bumped into another girl, eyes just as wide as the ones they had passed, but hers were far more dreamy.

“Luna,” Harry said, surprised by the relief in his voice.

“Hi, Harry,” she smiled. “Hi, Neville.”

Harry glanced over her shoulder, but she seemed to be alone. “Ginny’s not with you?” and he was again surprised by the disappointment as he said it.

“Haven’t seen her,” Luna said. “I expect she’s gone off to find Dean Thomas, though.”

“Right.” Dean Thomas. Her boyfriend. Of course. That was alright, Harry told himself. He hadn’t exactly planned on sharing the prophecy with Ginny anyway, and he really hadn’t considered telling Luna, even if the two of them had gone with him to the Department of Mysteries.

“Well, how are you, Luna?” Harry asked, and started checking for empty compartments as they walked. He did his best to avoid eye contact with everyone in the corridors. He felt like a basilisk, petrifying everyone into stillness if he looked at them too long. He ignored the heat rushing to his cheeks and focused on Luna’s answer.

“Very well, thank you.” She followed closely on his heels, and the way people looked away as she stared at them made Harry not mind how close she was.

Finally, Harry opened the door to an empty compartment, and he ushered Luna and Neville inside.

“Blimey, Harry,” Neville said as he closed the door behind them. “They’re all staring at us because we’re with you.”

“You were both at the Ministry, too,” Harry said. “We were all in the _Prophet_.”

Neville scrunched up his nose and took Trevor out of his pocket. “I suppose, but I don’t think that’s why people are staring at —”

Whatever Neville was going to explain was lost as Trevor leaped from his hand and onto the floor.

Luna lifted her feet so Neville could scramble for Trevor, and put a pair of bright pink whimsical glasses on her face. Her grey eyes vanished behind iridescent lenses.

“Will we continue the D.A. this year?” she asked, in a tone that suggested their secret, rule-breaking, anti-Ministry organization was as casual as getting together for tea once a week.

Harry shrugged. “No point now that we’ve got rid of Umbridge, is there?” He wondered what sort of a teacher Slughorn would be like. He thought of how the man appreciated his comforts and wondered if he wouldn’t be any better than Umbridge. No, because Lily at least had liked him, on some level, so he couldn’t be as bad as Umbridge. He certainly couldn’t give out detentions that carved bloody words into the back of your hand.

“I liked the D.A.,” Neville said from beneath the train seat, still digging around for Trevor.

“I liked the D.A., too,” Luna said, though her eyes were on the copy of the Quibbler in her hands. “It was like having friends.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he should comfort Luna for such a pitiful statement, or laugh because it was a little bit funny. Before he could decide if he needed to reassure her or tease her, a high-pitched giggle that was definitely not Hermione or Ginny came from the other side of the compartment door.

“No you ask him,” a girl’s voice said.

“No you,” said another.

Harry ran through the list of girls he knew and drew a blank. He could not tell who was on the other side of the door, not until one of the girls shouldered it open.

She had long, dark curls that framed her face attractively, and a strong jaw that reminded Harry a bit of Cedric’s. Her lips were fuller, though, and her nose smaller, and her smile far more ambitious.

“Hi, Harry.” She spoke loudly, and her full lips pulled back into a wide smile. “I’m Romilda, Romilda Vane. Why don’t you join us in our compartment? You don’t have to sit with —” She put her hand to her mouth to hide it from Luna and mouthed, “them.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, all his initial assumption that she was attractive burned out in just seven words. Neville was halfway under a seat, and Luna looked like a Muggle Christmas tree and been turned inside out and then flipped right way around again, but this was exactly where Harry wanted to be.

“They’re my friends,” he said, perhaps more coldly than he’d meant to.

Romilda Vane blinked. “Oh. Okay.” And she and her giggling friends left.

“People expect you to have cooler friends than us,” said Luna.

“You are cool,” Harry said, with no hesitation in addressing Luna’s unusual statement this time. He knew it was sulky, but he folded his arms and sank into his seat. He kept his back to the window into the corridor, hoping people might not notice him. “They didn’t come to the Ministry and fight off a dozen Death Eaters with me.”

Neville extricated Trevor from a dust bunny and sat back on the seat. “We didn’t face _him_ though. You did.”

Harry was not keen on remembering his fight with Voldemort. He had a feeling that, now that he knew the prophecy, the next time he faced the Dark Lord would be his last — whether it was his end, or Voldemort’s. It was a silly feeling. He was the Boy Who Lived, who had faced Voldemort not just as an infant, but several times since. None of them had been pleasant encounters, but Harry had survived each one. Who was to say when his and Voldemort’s last encounter would be?

But somewhere in his gut he knew he didn’t have many chances left.

He considered telling Luna and Neville the prophecy right there, just blurting it out in the carriage. But Luna was brutally honest, and Harry wasn’t sure he could take that response just now. And she might repeat it to someone else. At least it was unlikely they’d take her seriously.

“Harry’s the Chosen One, you know,” she might say to another girl in Ravenclaw, or whoever it was Luna was friends with when she wasn’t with the D.A.

And the other girl might reply, “Sure, Luna, whatever you say,” and go on with her day as if Luna had merely told her that onions sprouting from the ears was a sure sign of rain approaching.

Still, Harry bit his tongue. He would wait until at least Hermione and Ron were here. He wondered if he told Luna, should he tell Ginny? But she was with Dean, and it wouldn’t be fair to put her in that kind of a spot, to have a secret from Dean because Harry had asked…

Harry didn’t let himself finish that thought. Instead, he told himself that if Luna and Ginny were included in the small circle of people who knew the prophecy, it would be because they had gone to the Ministry with him, which meant that Pearl Lais also ought to be included, wherever she was, and at that point, Harry decided he would just share it with Ron, Hermione, and Neville. Ron and Hermione were his best friends, and Neville was slowly becoming one.

“Alright, Harry?” Neville asked.

“What?”

“You disappeared for a moment. My dad does that sometimes — everything okay?”

Harry shook his head. “Sorry. Yeah, lost in thought, I guess.”

“Wrackspurts,” said Luna, a sympathy in her voice, like Harry had said he’d sprouted a large pimple instead of wondering in his own head.

“What?” Harry said, again.

“A Wrackspurt — they’re invisible. They float in through your ears and make your brain go all fuzzy. I thought I felt one zooming around in here.”

Harry and Neville each raised an eyebrow as Luna waved her hand in front of her face and about her ears like she was trying to swat a small bird out of the air, sort of like Crookshanks or Puck might. 

Finally, around midday, Hermione and Ron arrived at their carriage. Ron immediately sank into the seat across from Harry and said, “I’m starving. Wish the trolley lady would hurry up.”

Hermione gave Ron a brief glance, full of distaste, then smiled at Harry and Neville. “Did you have a good rest of the summer?”

“It was very quiet,” said Neville, with a sideways glance at Harry. Neville had missed the noisiest part of summer: Sirius and Remus’s very loud fight when Remus left, but Harry had told him about it. It had been hard not to. Sirius had been in a foul mood for nearly two weeks. It didn’t clear up until Tonks visited for dinner, and she had finally been the one to talk him out of it.

“More or less,” Harry agreed. He might feel comfortable sharing the situation about Remus and Tonks with Ron and Hermione, but not with Luna. Remus’s furry little problem had become public knowledge just two years ago, thanks to Snape, but that didn’t mean it was discussed with people outside the family. He couldn’t talk about things happening at home any more than he could talk about the prophecy. Harry wasn’t sure what to say.

Thankfully, he was spared by Ron.

“Our summer wasn’t quiet — Mum was a nightmare with Fleur around. Can’t understand why. She’s so annoyed with their wedding plans.”

“She just thinks they’ve rushed things, is all,” said Hermione.

“They’ve been dating a year — they met at the Triwizard Tournament. That’s plenty of time.”

“To _marry_ someone?” Hermione looked scandalized.

Ron rolled his eyes. “It was nice to get out to Diagon Alley and see you guys. Oh — speaking of Malfoy, guess who’s not doing prefect duty?”

Harry sat up straight and stared at Ron. “What’s he doing?”

Ron shrugged. “Nothing. Just sitting with the Slytherins. Not like him, is it? He loves to be out there bullying first years with his shiny prefect badge.”

“Maybe he’s gotten nicer,” said Neville. “Maybe now that his dad’s in jail, he and his mum are better.”

But Neville had been in Madam Malkin’s with them. Neville knew Malfoy hadn’t changed. And Harry thought that if his father had been taken to Azkaban, he wouldn’t be feeling too kind to the people who put him there.

“What do you think he’s doing?” Harry asked.

Hermione refused to indulge the suspicion in Harry’s voice. “Slacking off,” she said. “Not everything Malfoy does is nefarious. Maybe Prefect feels like a step down from Inquisitorial Squad.”

“Maybe he’s bragging to his friends about his new friend Greyback,” Harry said. That part of the conversation they’d overheard still irked him. He’d turned that name over and over, wondering why it was familiar. Finally, he’d asked James about it a week later and James had nearly dropped the bundle of linens he’d been carrying downstairs to wash.

“Where’d you hear about him?” James had asked.

“Er — someone mentioned him when we were in Diagon Alley. I just overheard it.”

James had glanced around the hall nervously, but Harry didn’t know who he was checking for, or why Greyback was some sort of secret.

“He’s not a good person, Harry. He — he’s a werewolf, and not a safe one.”

“You mean not like Remus?”

“He’s the werewolf who bit Remus.”

Harry had needed time to process that information. Though it added color to Malfoy’s conversation, he hadn’t written about it to Ron or Hermione. He had found himself unable to put to paper the tragedy that had made Remus Lupin, especially in the middle of this particular summer, when Remus’s condition was such a central part of the family’s collective worries.

“Did you find out who Greyback is?” Hermione asked keenly.

“Works with Voldemort,” Harry said, casually as he could, and ignored Neville’s shiver. “So if we needed any more proof that Malfoy —”

Harry stopped suddenly, remember what Malfoy had been doing when he had brought up Greyback. He had rolled up the sleeves of his robes and shown Borgin something on his arm, then threatened Borgin with Greyback. Greyback, the werewolf, who had been brought into the Death Eaters’ fold as one of their many tools of blackmail, and something on Malfoy’s right arm.

“He’s a Death Eater,” Harry said. “Malfoy’s a Death Eater, and he was showing Borgin his Dark Mark.”

Harry saw the protest on Hermione’s face before her mouth even opened. “Harry, he wouldn’t —”

“His dad was a Death Eater, and he’s just replaced him! Why else would he show Borgin his arm? What else would make Borgin listen to Malfoy like that?”

Ron shook his head. “Malfoy’s sixteen, mate, same as us. What would You-Know-Who be thinking, bringing Malfoy into something like that?”

But they hadn’t fought Voldemort. Harry didn’t think Voldemort would consider Malfoy’s age a deterrent.

“If he was, wouldn’t he be going off on dark missions?” asked Neville. “But he’s here on the train, going to school, same as us.”

“Unless his mission is at Hogwarts,” said Harry.

Hermione and Ron exchanged a look that said, “He’s clearly gone mad, but how do we tell him gently?”

“It makes sense,” Harry insisted.

“I think Harry’s right,” said Luna, as absently as ever. “You-Know-Who must be after the mounds of glowing garox gold buried beneath Hogwarts. The founders hid it when they built the school.”

Hermione’s raised eyebrow told Harry that it wasn’t wise to be in the same camp as Luna Lovegood. It only deterred Harry a little bit. 

“I don’t think Voldemort is after gold, but I bet Malfoy —”

The door opened, and for some reason, Harry felt disappointment when he saw the young girl in the doorway. He didn’t know who he had expected, but he’d hoped it would be someone else. Someone he knew.

The small girl, no older than twelve, certainly seemed to have expected him. “Harry P-Potter? And Neville Longbottom?” she asked.

“Yeah?” Harry tried not to be annoyed with her. It wasn’t her fault his face was plastered all over _The Daily Prophet_ each week. She couldn’t help the flush in her cheeks.

She held out two scrolls, tied with purple ribbons that looked like velvet. Harry thought the velvet should have been a giveaway, like it was familiar in a way he should understand, but he couldn’t. He accepted one of the scrolls.

Neville, face wide with bewilderment, took the scroll from her. 

Ron, impatiently, demanded, “What is it?” as Harry unfurled it. Fortunately, it didn’t take long to read.

“An invitation,” Harry said.

_Harry,_   
_I would be delighted if you would join me for a bite of lunch in compartment C._   
_Sincerely,_   
_Professor H. E. F. Slughorn_

“To what?” asked Ron.

“From whom?” asked Hermione.

“Professor Slughorn,” Harry said. “I mentioned him, right?”

Hermione nodded. Ron frowned.

“What do you think he wants with us?” asked Neville.

“I guess lunch,” Harry said, though he remembered Dumbledore’s warning about collecting students. But if Neville had been invited, why not Ron and Hermione? Was it just because he was a Longbottom?

Harry grabbed his bag and, as was beginning to be a habit, checked for his Invisibility Cloak. He’d carried it with him whenever he and his father went into the garden. He’d carried it with him when they went to Diagon Alley. And still, on the Hogwarts Express, he planned to carry it with him. Dumbledore had said to keep it on him at all times, so he did. Harry wondered if he could even put it to some good use.

“Let’s see if we can spy on Malfoy as we pass his compartment,” Harry said as he and Neville left, but that plan was useless. The corridor was too crowded. It was one thing to slip down Knockturn Alley, where people slunk around the edges and avoiding bumping into anyone was fairly easy. It was another to try to navigate the packed hallway of the Hogwarts Express.

As he and Neville headed for compartment C, Harry found himself wishing he could use his Invisibility Cloak for a second reason: to avoid everyone’s stares.

It wasn’t just girls whispering and giggling, and it wasn’t just first and second years gaping. The latter, Harry was fairly used to. Colin and Dennis Creevey had made sure Harry was familiar with that. This year, everyone stared. The first and second years, the third and fourth years, even the seventh years and the sixth years, who had known Harry all this time, stared. Harry didn’t need to know what they were thinking. The question was on each of their faces: “Is he the Chosen One to defeat Voldemort?”

Harry was grateful when they finally arrived at compartment Compartment C. At least Slughorn’s fawning would be different than everyone’s gaping stares. Unfortunately, the gaping stares weren’t over.

“Harry, m’boy!” Slughorn said as Harry opened the door. The large man stood, nearly filling the corridor, and shook Harry’s hand.

Behind him were several other students, and each one’s eyes widened in surprise as Harry stepped into the compartment — all except one.

Ginny Weasley was squashed into the corner, and she smiled at Harry and Neville. 

As Harry shook Slughorn’s hand and looked around the compartment, he saw a couple other familiar faces: Blaise Zabini from Slytherin, who was in Harry’s year, though Harry was not sure they had ever exchanged a word, and Cormac McLaggen, a seventh-year Gryffindor who Harry knew only by reputation.

The third was a seventh-year Harry had never met, who Slughorn introduced as “Marcus Belby, I don’t know if you’ve ever — no? — well, at least this charming lady tells me she knows you,” and he gestured to Ginny.

Harry and Neville took the only two seats available and Slughorn settled into his own seat, piled with additional velvet cushions. Those, coupled with his velvet robes, made him look like he was the same sofa he had transformed himself into the night Harry had met him.

“Well, now, this is most pleasant,” Slughorn said as he put a napkin over his lap. “A chance to get to know you all better. Here, take a napkin. I’ve packed my own lunch; the trolley, as I remember it, is heavy on the licorice wands, and a poor old man’s digestive system isn’t quite up to such things…. Pheasant, Belby?”

Slughorn chatted with each of them in turn, and Harry quickly discovered how Slughorn went about “collecting” his students. Slughorn pressed Belby about a famous uncle who had invented the Wolfsbane Potion, and when Belby admitted he hardly spoke to his uncle, Slughorn moved onto McLaggen. McLaggen, whose uncle was well-known in Ministry circles that included the new Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, and who McLaggen was very close with, was doted on by Slughorn for the rest of the lunch. Zabini had been brought in because he had a wealthy mother who moved through pureblood society and had been widowed more times than anyone ought to be. Neville was interrogated about his parents’ work with the Ministry and their connections with Scrimgeour. 

The more Slughorn interrogated each student, the more Harry wondered why Ginny was here. Harry loved the Weasleys, but they didn’t have any Ministry connections or claims to the sort of greatness that Slughorn admired. 

“And now,” Slughorn’s voice trilled with excitement, and his thick mustache quivered with his breath, “Harry Potter! Where to begin? I feel I barely scratched the surface when we met over the summer! ‘The Chosen One,’ they’re calling you now!” 

Harry smiled awkwardly and recalled his conversation with Dumbledore. Dumbledore had warned him that Slughorn would try to collect him, to influence him. Dumbledore had not given him any advice on how to avoid Slughorn.

“Of course,” Slughorn continued, “there have been rumors for years. . . . I remember when — well — after that terrible night — Lily — James — and you survived — and the word was that you must have powers beyond the ordinary —” 

Zabini cleared his throat, poorly masking a derisive snort.

“Yeah, Zabini,” Ginny snapped suddenly, though she’d been quiet for the entire lunch, “because you’re so talented — at posing.” 

“Oh dear!” Slughorn laughed as if Ginny had only been poking fun. Harry understood very quickly what James and Sirius had meant when they’d said Slughorn was very easy to have fun with.

“You want to be careful, Blaise!” Slughorn continued. “I saw this young lady perform the most marvelous Bat-Bogey Hex as I was passing her carriage! I wouldn’t cross her!”

Harry smiled at Ginny, hoping she understood he was both grateful and impressed.

“Anyway,” Slughorn turned back to Harry, “such rumors this summer. Of course, one doesn’t know what to believe, the Prophet has been known to print inaccuracies, make mistakes — but there seems little doubt, given the number of witnesses, that there was quite a disturbance at the Ministry and that you were there in the thick of it all!” 

Harry could not see any sense in denying that he had been there. It was all over the _Prophet_ , so he merely shrugged. 

Slughorn’s smile was wider than his mustache. “So modest, so modest, no wonder Dumbledore is so fond — you were there, then? But the rest of the stories — so sensational, of course, one doesn’t know quite what to believe — this fabled prophecy, for instance —” 

“We never heard a prophecy,” Neville interrupted. 

“That’s right,” Ginny said. “Neville and I were both there too, and all this ‘Chosen One’ rubbish is just the Prophet making things up as usual.” 

“You were both there too, were you?” Slughorn looked between Ginny and Neville, waiting for them to share more details, but they did not. Harry was more grateful than ever for his friends, and reconsidered his plan to keep the prophecy from Ginny.

Slughorn’s excitement faltered when neither Ginny nor Neville volunteered more information about the fight at the Ministry. “Yes, well,” he dabbed the pheasant grease out of his mustache with his napkin, “it is true that the Prophet often exaggerates, of course. I remember dear Gwenog telling me — Gwenog Jones, I mean, of course, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies —”

Slughorn continued sharing stories of his past students, all who went on to fame or positions of power. They’d been members of what Slughorn called, “The Slug Club.” 

Harry had not known there was someone who could talk more than Hermione, and at least when Hermione talked it was about something that wasn’t herself. Slughorn occasionally asked the students questions, but none of it was information Harry wanted to volunteer. Giving up information about himself made Harry feel like he was handing over strings of web to a spider, and giving Slughorn pieces to tug on. He hated every minute of it, and understood another reason his parents had been so determined to keep the prophecy secret.

Harry searched desperately for some polite way to extricate himself from the extended lunch, but the opportunity never seemed to arise. It wasn’t until the sunlight streamed red into the cabin, hardly a sliver on the horizon, that Slughorn seemed to realize the late hour.

“Good gracious, it’s getting dark already! I didn’t notice that they’d lit the lamps! You’d better go and change into your robes, all of you. McLaggen, you must drop by and borrow that book on nogtails. Harry, Blaise — any time you’re passing. Same goes for you, miss,” he smiled widely at Ginny. “Well, off you go, off you go!” 

Zabini pushed past Harry, Ginny, and Neville to be the first down the corridor. Ginny, Neville and Harry weren’t far behind him. McLaggen and Belby seemed content to linger, which told Harry all he needed to know about the two of them.

“I’m glad that’s over,” Neville mumbled as they followed after Zabini. “Strange man, isn’t he?” 

“Yeah, he is a bit.” Harry felt as distant as Luna as he watched Zabini stalk down the hall. A part of a plan was forming in his mind, just the pieces of one. “How come you ended up in there, Ginny?” 

“He saw me hex Zacharias Smith,” she said. “You remember that idiot from Hufflepuff who was in the D.A.? He kept on and on asking about what happened at the Ministry and in the end he annoyed me so much I hexed him — when Slughorn came in I thought I was going to get detention, but he just thought it was a really good hex and invited me to lunch! Mad, eh?” 

“Better reason for inviting someone than because their mother’s famous,” Harry said, though he wondered how much of his parents’ fame influenced his invitation, “or because their uncle —” Harry stopped as the half-formed planned reached its conclusion. He knew what he had to do.

“I’ll see you two later.” Harry yanked his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag and threw it over his head.

“But what’re you — ?” Neville asked. 

“Later!” Harry hissed, and hurried after Zabini. The train rattling down the tracks masked Harry’s footsteps, and most students had found compartments to change into their robes before arriving at Hogwarts. Harry’s approach was unimpeded, but there was no way he could slip into the compartment behind Zabini so easily.

Zabini slid the door open and closed it as soon as he had stepped through, slamming it into Harry’s foot. Harry bit down a yelp as Zabini smashed the door into his foot again.

“What’s wrong with this thing?” Zabini asked irritably.

Harry shoved the door open. The force of it threw Zabini into Goyle’s lap. As Zabini went tumbling, Harry slipped into the compartment, stepped onto an empty seat, and pulled himself up onto the luggage rack. Harry worried that his trainers may have slipped out from the cloak when he slid up, but Goyle and Zabini made such a commotion he thought he was safe. Still, he didn’t like the way Malfoy’s eyes stared up at the luggage rack from his half-lying half-sitting position. Even as Goyle slammed the door shut, Zabini slunk into his own seat, and Malfoy settled his head back onto Pansy Parkinson’s lap, Malfoy’s eyes lingered on the exact spot Harry was hiding.

Harry pulled the edges of the cloak tighter, though he was sure he was completely hidden.

Without taking his eyes off of Harry’s hiding spot, Malfoy asked, “So, Zabini,” said Malfoy, “what did Slughorn want?” 

“Just trying to make up to well-connected people.” Zabini, too, did not look at Malfoy as he answered. Instead he was still glaring at Goyle, as if the door fiasco was Goyle’s fault. “Not that he managed to find many.” 

Malfoy frowned up at the ceiling. “Who else had he invited?”

“McLaggen from Gryffindor,” said Zabini. 

Malfoy’s frown turned to a slightly impressed sneer. “Oh yeah, his uncle’s big in the Ministry,” 

“— someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw —” 

Pansy paused her reverent stroking of Malfoy’s hair. “Not him, he’s a prat!”

“— and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl,” finished Zabini. 

Malfoy sat up and half-snarled. “He invited Longbottom?” 

“Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there.” Zabini turned to look out the window, making his disinterest in Neville plain. 

“What’s Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?” 

Zabini shrugged. “His parents are famous Aurors.”

“Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at ‘the Chosen One,’” Malfoy growled, “but that Weasley girl! What’s so special about her?” 

“A lot of boys like her,” Pansy said. Her eyes were on Malfoy, and her hand still hovered in the air, waiting for him to return to her lap. “Even you think she’s good-looking, don’t you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!”

“I wouldn’t touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like,” Zabini snapped.

Pansy smiled and Malfoy lowered himself back into her lap. She resumed running her fingers through his hair, as if he were a cat on her lap.

“Well, I pity Slughorn’s taste,” Malfoy said. “Maybe he’s going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn’t heard I’m on the train, or —” 

“I wouldn’t bank on an invitation,” said Zabini. “He asked me about Nott’s father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he’d been caught at the Ministry he didn’t look happy, and Nott didn’t get an invitation, did he? I don’t think Slughorn’s interested in Death Eaters.”

Malfoy’s normally pale face was flushed with anger, but he forced a laugh out anyway. “Well, who cares what he’s interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher.” As if to emphasize how little he cared, Malfoy yawned. “I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what’s it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?” 

Pansy’s hand dropped from Malfoy’s hair to her seat. She frowned down at him and snapped, “What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?” 

“Well, you never know,” Malfoy said in his usual drawl. “I might have — er — moved on to bigger and better things.”

Harry’s heart raced. He resisted the urge to shift closer; he could see and hear everything just fine, but he worried he would miss what Malfoy was truly up to. He held his breath.

Crabbe and Goyle stared at Malfoy as if they could not imagine anything bigger and better than harassing first years at Hogwarts. Zabini even quirked an eyebrow at Malfoy.

Pansy’s voice was hardly a whisper as she said, “Do you mean… Him?”

Malfoy did not answer her. “Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don’t see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it, when the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care about how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone’s got? Of course he isn’t. It’ll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown.”

Harry remembered the loyalty Bellatrix had shown to Voldemort even as she’d been sentenced to life in Azkaban. She was the only one he saved. She was also Draco’s aunt, and maybe Draco had learned a thing or two from her.

“And you think you’ll be able to do something for him?” Zabini said with a snort. “Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?” 

Malfoy scowled back. “I’ve just said, haven’t I? Maybe he doesn’t care if I’m qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn’t something that you need to be qualified for.” 

Crabbe and Goyle were still gaping. Whatever Malfoy was talking about was news to them. That surprised Harry. He’d always imagined that, stupid as they were, Malfoy still confided in them. He remembered the Christmas Eve years ago when he and Ron had impersonated Crabbe and Goyle and snuck into the Slytherin common room. Malfoy had spoken openly and freely with them. This must have been very secretive indeed for Malfoy to brag so vaguely to friends he traditionally confided in.

Pansy brushed a wisp of hair from Malfoy’s forehead and stared at him with wonder. Zabini seemed to be the only one left who thought Malfoy was spouting fantasies.

“I can see Hogwarts,” Malfoy said, and sat up, though he looked loathe to take the attention off of himself. “We’d better get our robes on.”

Harry glanced out the window and indeed, he saw that the lights of Hogwarts castle glistened on the horizon, despite the foggy evening. He looked back at Malfoy and failed to notice Goyle reach up for his trunk. The heavy baggage hit Harry on the head as Goyle yanked it down and Harry struggled to stifle a yelp. Malfoy’s eyes darted keenly to the empty space and Harry held his breath once more.

He was not afraid of Malfoy in the least — Harry had faced thirteen Death Eaters just months ago. He’d watched them torture Neville and Cedric, and that wasn’t the first time he’d watched Cedric be tortured. Malfoy was nothing compared to Voldemort. Still, he didn’t relish being discovered spying by a band of Slytherins.

Carefully, though his head still throbbed from the blow, Harry drew his wand from his jeans.

Malfoy did not stare at the space long. He dressed in his robes like the others. The train had begun to slow, but Harry could not leave until the compartment was empty. He wished fervently that Malfoy and his friends would head to the corridors, wait at the doors to be the first ones off the train. But sixth years were hardly so eager. The corridors packed with second, third, and a few fourth years as the shoved each other to be the first onto the platform, the first to the carriages, as if they could reach the feast faster. The sixth and seventh years knew better than to fight the crowds.

The train halted as the Slytherins finished putting on what looked like winter cloaks. Harry squinted out the window, but from his vantage point he couldn’t tell how cold the platform looked. Finally, Goyle opened the door and shoved his way into the crowded corridor. Crabbe was not far behind him. Zabini and Pansy waited at the door a moment until the crowd had thinned, then Zabini left. Pansy turned back and held her hand out to Draco.

“You go on,” Malfoy said. “I just want to check something.”

Harry could not hold his breath any more than he already was. His heart, he found, could race a little faster.

Malfoy drew the blinds and turned to his trunk. Harry struggled to see what Malfoy was digging out of his trunk — could it be the object that needed mending?

Malfoy turned suddenly and said, “ _Petrificus Totalus_!” and pointed his wand at Harry.

Harry fell to the ground on top of his cloak. His body was frozen in the position he’d been crouched in and panic surged through Harry as he realized he was completely helpless, unable to move, to even twitch his fingers.

Malfoy kicked Harry’s wand from his hand. “I thought so,” he said. The smile on his face was thin and cold. “I heard Goyle’s trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back. You didn’t hear anything I care about, Potter, but while I’ve got you here….”

Malfoy raised his foot and brought it down on Harry’s face.

It was a strange sensation, to feel pain, to feel blood dripping from his nose, and to be unable to react. Harry could not shout, he could not flinch, he could not hold the wound and stanch the bleeding. He wondered if this was how Cedric had felt as Pyrites had cut him open while he was under the Silencing Charm.

“That’s from my father,” Malfoy said. “Now, let’s see.” Malfoy yanked the cloak out from beneath Harry and let it fall on top of him. “I don’t reckon they’ll find you until the train’s back in London. See you around, Potter. Or not.”

Malfoy made sure to get one more stomp on Harry’s hand as he left the compartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated!


	8. Snape Victorious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's first evening at Hogwarts does not go at all as he might have hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't much, but there is a lot tucked into it. I hope you enjoy the tiny bits I've prepared for you.

Harry thought that Malfoy was right, and that he would not be found until the Hogwarts Express had completed its return trip to London. He wondered which of his family would be most disappointed in him for being so reckless as to spy on Malfoy, who had not only been an enemy since the day they’d begun at Hogwarts, but had developed an even deeper personal grudge this summer, since Harry was partly responsible for Lucius Malfoy’s arrest in June.

Panic momentarily seized Harry at the idea that Malfoy was now fully aware the Invisibility Cloak existed. He felt exposed. There would not be much sneaking around after Malfoy now that Malfoy knew of the Cloak. But that panic was for another time. Right now, he had to figure out a way off of this train.

As the sounds of students shouting on the platform faded, Harry knew he was now completely alone. No one was coming to look for him, and even if they were, they wouldn’t find him. He was invisible, and that was his own fault.

Harry tried, hard as he could, to twitch his fingers but nothing worked, nothing moved. He was completely petrified — he couldn’t even smile wryly at how accurate the “ _Totalis_ ” of Malfoy’s spell was.

In vain, he tried to summon his wand. If he could just curl his fingers around it, or if it could even just brush his fingers, perhaps he could remove the jinx. Dumbledore had done wandless, wordless magic before. Surely Harry could draw his wand to him. But it wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard he thought, “ _Accio Wand_!” Some Chosen One he was.

Then the train lurched, and Harry rolled with the movement. He felt the cloak slip, revealing half of his hip. That was something, at least. But the floor rumbled beneath him as the Hogwarts Express began its journey back to London. Harry had all night ahead of him to imagine the panic his parents would go through when they learned he was not at Hogwarts. He had all night to rehearse what he would say to the Aurors who found him on the train, to his parents when they discovered why he had made them panic for a full night.

Then the Cloak was pulled off him and a familiar, though unusually quiet, voice said, “Wotcher, Harry.”

Tonks waved her wand and, after a flash of red light, Harry could move again. He pushed himself onto his knees and wiped the blood of his nose on the sleeve of his shirt.

“Wotcher, Tonks,” he said with an unhappy grin.

They were a pair of sad smiles, the two of them.

“We’d better get out of here quickly,” she said, “or we’ll both be greeting sobbing, furious parents in King’s Cross.”

Tonks helped Harry to his feet — he found his legs cramped and stiff — and together they hurried to the door of the train car.

“Come on, we’ll jump,” she said. 

Harry leapt out the train and his feet hit the platform of Hogsmeade. He stumbled a little, but found regaining his balance much easier than traveling by Portkey. Tonks jumped out right behind him.

“Alright?” she asked.

Harry, determined not to look embarrassed, nodded.

Tonks handed him the Invisibility Cloak. “Who did it?”

As ashamed as he was, there was no sense in lying. Harry could not very well pretend he had done it to himself. “Draco Malfoy.”

Tonks nodded, like she understood, and Harry felt a little better. He remembered that Narcissa Malfoy was her aunt; it was easier to remember when the light hit her face this way. Her harsh angles were harsher in the dim lantern glow on the Hogsmeade platform.

“Thanks,” he said suddenly, realizing he should have led with gratitude.

“No problem. I can fix your nose for you, too, if you stand still.”

“Thanks — I could try it myself.”

“Wouldn’t recommend it.” Her voice almost had a laugh in it. Almost. She pointed her wand at Harry’s face. Instinctively, he closed his eyes.

“ _Episkey_ ,” she said.

A warm sensation flooded his face, and then it grew very cold, as if the blood had returned and left suddenly. He felt his face carefully. Everything seemed in order.

“Thanks,” he said for a third time, unsure what else there was to say.

“Better put that cloak back on, and we can walk up to the school.”

Harry frowned, but threw the cloak over his shoulders. “Why?”

“Don’t need anyone in Hogsmeade knowing Harry Potter is wandering around after all the carriages have gone up. Come on, we’ve dawdled enough, as my mum would say.” Tonks started for the end of the platform, and Harry followed. 

Tonks waved her wand and from it, a large, silver, four-legged beast shot out from its tip and ran towards the castle. Harry was fairly certain he’d seen that patronus exactly once before, but he knew it would be rude to ask, so Harry chose a different tack.

“How’d you find me?”

“You didn’t come off the train. I thought that was suspicious. I figured it was worth looking in the compartment with the shades drawn.”

“What are you doing at Hogsmeade anyway?”

“Security. There’s a few of us Aurors around. I’m sure Dumbledore’ll use Order members, too.”

Tonks was quiet as they continued the walk up to the castle. It felt longer, walking it this late at night, even though Harry had taken it a few times into Hogsmeade on day trips out of the castle. He found this new, quiet Tonks strange. James and Sirius had managed to bring out the best in her the few times she’d visited for dinner, but Harry didn’t know how to do that.

“Have you talked to Remus?” she asked suddenly, then bit her lip, as if she regretted the question all together.

“Not since two full moons ago.” Harry looked up at the sky reflexively, but the waning moon was hidden by cloud cover. “Dad says he’s running from choosing between you and Sirius.”

Tonks laughed, but Harry didn’t think he’d said anything funny.

“Have you been in love before, Harry?” she asked.

Harry’s first thought was, “Not enough to change my patronus,” but he didn’t dare say that to Tonks. He knew his parents’ patronuses matched. He knew Snape’s matched Lily’s. Now he knew that Tonks’s had changed to match Remus’s.

“I dunno,” he said.

“Yeah, I dunno either,” she said. “You’re what, sixteen?”

“Yeah. You’re what, fifty-four?”

Tonks stuck her tongue out at Harry, and for a moment, Harry saw the young, silly girl, who had barely begun Auror training, standing in his kitchen, the two of them teasing each other like school children. Tonks was, strangely, the closest thing to a sibling Harry had ever had.

“Sixteen was the year I tried everything,” she said.

Harry quirked an eyebrow, though Tonks couldn’t see it since Harry was invisible. “Everything?” he repeated.

“Everything,” she said. “Boys, girls, being a boy, being a girl, doing whatever I wanted….” She glanced sideways at him, and Harry had the strange feeling she hadn’t trusted many people with this information. “It doesn’t bother you that Remus and Sirius might be in love?” she asked

Harry shrugged, then realized Tonks couldn’t see it. “I think I’ve always known they were in love. Does it bother you?”

“What bothers me is people who run from who they are.” She looked angry now, the sort of indignation Harry was so familiar with from Sirius, and suddenly she looked a lot like Sirius. “I get taking time to figure yourself out — hell, I’m still doing it — but I don’t get running from someone you love for fifteen years, and taking that out on me.”

Harry felt strangely uncomfortable, like he was hearing things Tonks had never meant to say to anyone. He considered taking the Invisibility Cloak off, to remind her that he was still here, still a real person she was talking to.

“Sorry, Harry,” she said, and ran a hand through her mousy brown hair, as if she had just realized what Harry was thinking. “I’ve tried talking to Sirius about this, but he’s too close to Remus to really listen to me.”

Harry remembered his promise to himself, that he wanted to give to his friends as much as he asked of them. “I’m a good listener,” he said, “especially if I’m invisible.”

Tonks laughed, and it was actually a real laugh this time. “Is that what Malfoy caught you doing? Eavesdropping?”

Harry told her everything he’d overheard in Malfoy’s compartment, and even added the information he’d overheard in Diagon Alley. It felt good to tell Tonks what he knew about Malfoy. She was an Auror. She was in the Order. She could do something about it, and, probably, she wouldn’t scold him for sneaking off.

Tonks listened impassively. Harry thought in another time, she might have joked with him the way Sirius would have. Whether it was her worries over Remus or the war surrounding them both, she was quiet and almost thoughtful as she heard Harry’s story.

“I can mention it to the Ministry,” she said, “but I can’t promise anything’ll come of it. I can’t imagine even You-Know-Who hiring a kid — no offense, Harry — to do his work. Malfoy’s probably just trying to impress his friends.”

Harry’s heart sank. Even Tonks didn’t believe him. At least he’d told her. At least he’d done something. He could taste the pettiness in his voice when he said, “Scrimgeour wants to hire me.”

Tonks laughed at that, too — another real laugh.

They continued their walk in silence. The Invisibility Cloak may have made Harry invisible, but it didn’t protect from the cold very much. Harry wasn’t sure if he preferred the silence or their awkward conversation about Remus. Either way, he was grateful when they finally reached the Hogwarts gates, with winged boars resting on the pillars that flanked the iron-wrought bars. He knew there was a warm feast waiting just on the other side.

“Don’t suppose you have a key,” Harry said, examining the lock on the chains around the gate.

“Nah,” said Tonks. “Dumbledore bewitched them himself. I wouldn’t even know where to begin opening them.”

“I could climb the wall,” Harry suggested.

“No, you couldn’t. Anti-intruder jinxes on all of them. Security’s been tightened a hundredfold this summer.”

“Well,” Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his shoulders and frowned, “I’ll sleep outside then and wait until morning.”

Tonks rolled her eyes, entirely unamused, and Harry had never felt like more of a younger brother.

“Someone’s coming down for you,” she said. “They must’ve got my Patronus.”

Harry saw the lantern in the distance and relief made him warm again. He could endure even Filch if it meant being reunited with his friends and getting a hot meal in his stomach. The warm relief faded, however, as he got a clearer look of who was coming down the path to meet them.

Harry’s guilt over what had happened to his parents was nothing compared to the guilt he felt as Severus Snape approached the gates. Harry had gone to the Ministry and put himself and his parents in danger for no good reason, but at least he thought he had been trying to save Snape. There was no excuse for the danger he’d put Snape in. He’d poked into Snape’s memories, knowing that Voldemort shared a connection in his mind, and learned things about Snape that led to Snape being tortured by Voldemort. 

Harry had tried to apologize for his actions, but he didn’t think it had been a very good apology. He couldn’t quite remember if Snape had forgiven his mistake. Knowing Snape and the way he carried grudges, he probably hadn’t.

The lantern Snape carried illuminated his pallid face, and his nose cast sharp angles of shadow across his cheek. Soon, the light of the lantern was on Tonks and Harry, and Harry resisted the urge to pull the cloak back up and over his face.

“Well, well, well,” Snape said with an unamused smile. He tapped his wand against the lock and the chains unwrapped themselves from the gate. “Nice of you to turn up, Potter, although you have evidently decided that the wearing of school robes would detract from your appearance.”

The Hogwarts gates creaked as they swung open, and Harry bit back an excuse. It was no good arguing with Snape. He could protest that he didn’t have his robes, but Snape would want to know why, and Harry would have to explain that he’d been caught by Malfoy, and it wasn’t worth the embarrassment. It was one thing for Tonks to know what had happened. It was another for Snape.

“There’s no need to wait, Nymphadora,” Snape said, once the gates had opened just enough for Harry to slip through. “Potter is quite — ah — safe in my hands.”

Tonks frowned and stood on her tiptoes to peer of Snape’s shoulder, as if there might be someone else coming up the path. “I meant Hagrid to get the message,” she said.

“Hagrid was late for the start-of-term feast, just like Potter here, so I took it instead. And incidentally, I was interested to see your new Patronus.”

Throughout summer, whenever Harry’s temper had flared, it was like guilt wormed its way in and doused it. He could be angry with his mother or father, but he would remember the pain he’d put them through, and his temper would fade. Now, as he stared at Snape, he felt the opposite. He felt his guilt burn away like a spark landing in the center of a parchment, working its way slowly towards the edges, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

“I think you were better off with the old one,” Snape added as the gates clanged closed one more time, with Harry on one side and Tonks on the other. “The new one looks weak.”

“You’re one to talk about changing patronuses,” Harry snapped out before he could think. “I saw yours when you saved me and Sirius and Regulus from the dementors. You don’t have any right to talk to Tonks like that — or about Remus like that —”

“And I thought your grand disastrous adventure last summer might have taught you some humility, Potter.” Snape smoothed the front of his robes as if Harry’s outburst had ruffled them. “Come along; you’re late enough as it is.”

Snape turned to head up the path and Harry saw that Tonks looked as furious as Harry felt. She, however, said nothing.

“Good night,” Harry said with a half-wave. “Thanks for… everything.”

“See you, Harry,” she said. There was a hint of bitterness in her voice, but Harry knew it wasn’t directed at him. He knew exactly where it was aimed.

Harry jogged to catch up with Snape and shoved the cloak back into his bag. He tried to remember his resolve to trust Snape, to believe that Snape really loved his mother, but it was so hard when Snape made it so easy to hate him.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor for lateness, I think,” said Snape as they headed towards the Entrance Hall. “And, let me see, another twenty for your Muggle attire. You know, I don’t believe any House has ever been in negative figures this early in the term: We haven’t even started pudding. You might have set a record, Potter.”

Harry regretted his apology at the end of last year. He wasn’t sure he’d ever regretted an apology before. Maybe being sixteen really was the year to try everything.

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Harry was still in a foul mood when he finally returned to the common room, unhelped by anything that happened at the feast. 

He’d hurried into the Great Hall, trying to dodge everyone’s stares, and tried to keep his head down throughout the feast. It had been hard, especially when he’d learned the dismal news that Professor Slughorn would not be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts after all. Instead, Harry’s favorite subject would be taught by his least favorite professor — Snape. Harry wondered if it was worth it to double down on his apology or if he should just surrender himself to a miserable year. He wondered if it was possible for Snape to be worse than Umbridge.

Harry wanted to respect Snape, truly. He knew how suspicion had wormed its way into his family during the first war, and he had seen first hand the way that anger and fear was still affecting Remus and Sirius fifteen years later. His own suspicions of Snape had driven him into the Pensieve and nearly gotten Snape killed, along with several of his friends and family, and other members of the Order.

But Snape made it so difficult, sneering at Tonks for her change in patronus, and implying that Harry chose to make a grand entrance because he loved the attention of being “The Chosen One.”

Harry wanted nothing more than to disappear upstairs to bed and hope that he could wake up and do September 1st over again. He’d like to not have his nose and fingers crushed by Malfoy, to not have to endure Snape’s belittling comments, and to find out that Slughorn, pompous and manipulative as he was, would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. A shame that his “grand disastrous adventure” had destroyed the Ministry’s stock of Time-Turners.

Unfortunately, bed was not an option. Instead, Ron sat Harry down by the fireplace, shooing a pair of third years off to bed in the process. Either his prefect badge or Harry’s scar convinced them to abandon the coveted plush chairs and sent them scampering to their dormitories.

“Tell me what happened on the train,” Ron said. “Or —” he glanced at the portrait entrance, “— I guess you could wait for Hermione to get the first years up here. She’ll want to hear it too.”

“Shouldn’t you have brought the first years up?”

Ron shrugged. “Hermione’s got it. And anyway, that’s what the new fifth year prefects are for.”

Harry glanced around the common room. A few students had gathered to talk, but most of the greeting and catching up had been done on the train or at the welcome feast. The majority of Gryffindors had filtered up to their beds to unpack their trunks and settle in for the night. Harry wondered where Neville had gotten off to. Perhaps if Neville were here too, Harry could tell them what he’d been so worried about all summer.

Neville did not appear through the portrait, but Hermione did, a trail of wide-eyed first years in her wake.

“Don’t forget the password,” she said. “The Fat Lady is very particular — you’ll spend the night in the hall if you can’t remember it.”

One of the first years immediately began to cry, because he’d already forgotten it.

Once Hermione had gotten him calm, she showed them the Gryffindor common room. It was a brief tour; the common room highlights consisted of the notice board, a few work tables, and the fireplace, where Harry and Ron were seated.

Harry and Ron waved to Hermione as she gestured in their direction. Harry was grateful that the shadow created by the fire behind him hid his face from the first years. None of them whispered to each other about Harry Potter or the Chosen One. Or perhaps they were just too nervous.

Hermione answered several questions about Gryffindor, the chairs in the common room, and curfew for first years. Then she showed them to the stairs to the dormitories — “Boys on the left, girls to the right — your trunks should be there. Get a good night’s sleep. Classes are tomorrow! Asks the prefects at breakfast for directions if you get lost.” Her final words of advice were lost as the children hurried upstairs to see the dormitories that would be their home for the next several months. Hermione listened at the staircases for a moment to make sure all was well, then joined Ron and Harry by the fire.

“Thanks for the help, Ron,” she said.

“I was checking on Harry! You didn’t even ask what happened to his face.”

“I did when he came into the Hall. He said he didn’t want to talk about it.”

“No, he said later, as in, when not everyone else is around.”

Harry was used to Ron and Hermione bickering. He didn’t like it, but he was used to it. He wondered what their summer at the Burrow must have been like. Had they fought constantly? He wondered why Hermione would want to spend an entire summer with someone she fought with all the time.

Then he remembered how his parents had fought when they were students, the glimpse he’d gotten of them after finishing their O.W.L.s. Lily had mentioned to him that she hadn’t truly hated James, but she couldn’t let him know she didn’t hate him. Maybe Ron and Hermione would figure their bickering out eventually, too.

“Malfoy Petrified me,” Harry said, to interrupt their argument. “Broke my nose, stepped on my hand. Tonks found me.”

He’d hoped that would be enough, but Ron and Hermione pressed him for details. He told them what he’d overheard Malfoy say in the compartment, and, unsurprisingly, they were as skeptical as Tonks had been. They hadn’t thought much of what they’d seen in Knockturn Alley, either.

“Voldemort’s needed people at Hogwarts before, though,” Harry insisted. “Like Quirrell and Barty Crouch. Why not use a student?”

“Because Malfoy’s a git,” Ron said. “You think he got an ‘Outstanding’ in Potions, and You-Know-Who said, ‘Ah, of course young Malfoy, with this excellent report you’ll be perfect for my plan.’”

Harry couldn’t help but join Hermione in laughing. When Ron said it that way, it certainly sounded absurd. They were still laughing when the portrait swung open and Neville stumbled over the step and inside.

“You guys are still up?” he asked, and sounded a little breathless.

“We’re still up?” Ron said, since Hermione and Harry were still gathering their breath. “Thought you’d be in bed snoring by now.”

“I asked Professor Sprout if she’d take me to Greenhouse 7. I wanted to check on how the Angel’s Trumpets had been blooming over the summer and if they were showing fruit yet. She let me walk over with her and Hagrid.”

“Aren’t we going to see them tomorrow?” Ron asked with a raised eyebrow.

But Harry wasn’t surprised by Neville’s excitement. He’d listened to Neville carry on about different plants at Hogwarts, how they grew, and he’d listened to Neville fret about several of the plants, worrying that they weren’t getting the care they needed over the holiday. Harry knew, and he’d heard from Neville several times, that summer was one of the most important times to care for plants. It made Harry wonder who did look after the greenhouses while the students were away.

Neville joined them by the fireside, still talking about the Angel’s Trumpets, and how excited he was to be taking Herbology at the N.E.W.T. level. This led to the four of them comparing their classes for the next year. All four would be in Herbology, Defense, and Charms, but from there, their schedules varied greatly.

The boys wouldn’t continue on in Potions with Hermione. Neville wouldn’t be continuing on in Transfiguration. Harry was the only one considering Care of Magical Creatures, since he needed a fifth N.E.W.T.

“Have any of you told Hagrid yet?” Harry asked.

They all shook their heads.

“Do you think anyone from our year will?” Ron asked.

“Susan and Hannah said they would,” Neville said. “I think Sally Smith wanted to, and maybe some of the Ravenclaws?”

The Ravenclaws weren’t fond of Hagrid, but maybe one or two needed a N.E.W.T. in Care of Magical Creatures. Harry certainly hoped someone did. He wasn’t terribly fond of the subject itself, and didn’t know how he’d fare in a class without Hermione.

Hermione stifled a yawn. “Well, classes start tomorrow. We should get some rest.”

Harry’s heart seemed to grow louder in his chest. “Wait….” How often would he and his friends have a quiet, empty common room to talk in? When else would he tell them the prophecy?

But then the portrait door swung open, and a familiar giggle reached Harry’s ear.

“Here —” Dean Thomas said.

“No, I got it,” Ginny laughed as she stepped into the common room. “Oh! Harry, you’re still up.”

Dean grinned as he and Ginny walked closer to the fire, and Harry found it strangely difficult to smile back. Ginny leaned against the back of Harry’s chair and he caught the scent of something floral and earthy.

“Hey, Harry, how was your summer?”

At least Ginny did not ask about the bloody nose he’d entered the Great Hall with. 

“Fine,” he said. “Yours?”

“Alright. Could’ve used less Phlegm,” she said with a snort. “Nice to have Hermione around.” But Ginny didn’t flash her grin at Hermione. Instead, she flashed it at Ron.

“Oh, you stayed with the Weasley’s?” Dean asked as he, too, leaned over Harry’s chair to get a bit closer to the fire. Harry found his strong cologne far less appealing than Ginny’s shampoo. “Must’ve been nice to stay in the know this summer. It was hard with my Mum and my sisters not having any idea what was going on.”

“I don’t know,” Neville said, in a far-away voice reminiscent of Luna Lovegood. “It doesn’t sound much better than worrying about your parents all summer, while they’re out fighting Death Eaters every day.”

No one had much to say after that morose statement. A few moments of uncomfortable silence passed before Dean said, “Well, better go unpack and try to sleep before Neville starts snoring, right?”

The laughter was mixed, and no one followed Dean upstairs.

“Did you want to talk about something, Harry?” Hermione said, as Ginny forced herself into the same seat right beside Hermione, squishing into the corner and draping her legs over the armrest.

Dumbledore had cautioned secrecy in the prophecy, asked Harry to be careful who he told the prophecy to, and Harry had been careful. He’d only trusted Cedric so far. Four more sounded like a lot of people, but these were his closest friends. These four had joined him on the trip to the Hall of Prophecy. These four deserved to know what Voldemort had been after.

“My mum told me the prophecy — the one about me and Voldemort — the one that was destroyed when we went to the Ministry.”

He used the same words he’d used with Cedric. It was easier to tell it a second time, except for the description of the Chosen One — _born to those who thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies_. He mostly kept his eyes on the fire, so he wouldn’t have to watch his friends’ reactions, but he did glance at Neville, to see if what had clicked for Lily and James so quickly would also click for Neville.

If it did, Neville did not show it.

Harry didn’t look at his friends again, not even when he told them the end of the prophecy, that either he would kill Voldemort or Voldemort would kill him.

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, but otherwise, his friends were silent. None of them apologized the way Cedric had. Harry risked a glance at Ron, but found Ron’s blue eyes fixed on him, full of worry and concern and Harry had to look away.

“Are you scared?” Hermione finally asked.

“Not as much as I was, but…” Harry struggled to explain how Firenze and Dumbledore’s words had helped him come to terms with the prophecy. He came up empty. “I think my parents are more scared than I am.”

“That makes sense,” Neville said. He wasn’t looking at Harry. His eyes were on the fire. He looked thoughtful, which wasn’t a common expression for him. Wonder, fear, excitement — these were things Harry was used to seeing on Neville’s face. Intense concentration wasn’t one of them.

Harry wished there was a way to change the topic of conversation, but that sounded harder than steering a dragon.

“Dumbledore knows, doesn’t he?” Ron asked.

Harry nodded. “He’s said he’ll be giving me private lessons this year. I expect it’s related.”

“That’s great!” Though Ron seemed a bit pale in the firelight, he smiled. “That means Dumbledore thinks you’ve got a fighting chance. He’ll probably be teaching you really powerful magic. Powerful countercurses, anti-jinxes….”

While Ron started to suggest what Harry’s lessons might center around, and Hermione cut in to correct some of Ron’s suggestions, Harry felt his chest lighten. He was warm inside, and not just from the common room’s fireplace. 

It wasn’t until they finally got up to head to bed and Ginny whispered a soft, “Good night,” that he realized she hadn’t spoken since he’d shared the prophecy. He didn’t know what to make of that. He couldn’t even blame his tossing and turning that night on Neville’s snores because the boys’ dormitory was strangely quiet that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated!


	9. The Half-Blood Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Defense Against the Dark Arts is taking a different turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to 2020! And welcome new readers! I hope everyone had an excellent holiday. I've loved new reader comments coming in as people make their through this AU. I see every comment in my inbox and I promise I try to reply to everyone, it may just take me a while.

Severus Snape was not especially looking forward to his first day of teaching. Though he’d fought for the position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts for years, receiving it this year of all years felt like a slap in the face.

Of course the job was cursed. He’d watched professors come and go each year as their student and he’d watched them come and go as their colleague. He’d thought — or perhaps he had simply hoped — that Lily might have been the professor to break the curse, but she had left as they all had. And now it was his turn.

Severus knew that Dumbledore hoped this would work out in their favor in the end. Severus would exit the position with a promotion. He would go from professor to Headmaster instead of professor to unemployed. When Dumbledore had presented the plan, Severus had protested that Minerva was poised to become Headmistress at Dumbledore’s inevitable passing. Dumbledore, however, seemed certain that the Dark Lord would not be satisfied with control over the Ministry. He would want control over Hogwarts as well, and if Severus could provide him with that, it would mitigate the damage that might otherwise be done to staff and students.

As he prepared for the first day of classes, Severus wondered what it would be like in just twelve months from now. Dumbledore would be dead — whether by Severus’s hand or as a result of Dumbledore’s own folly — and Severus would be the new Headmaster. He’d be above Minerva, who had been in the Order with him these last two years, and would know by then that he was a traitor.

Dumbledore had promised him the task of double agent would be difficult, but Severus had never imagined that he would have to betray the Order so drastically. Though there was not anyone in the Order he truly considered a friend, Minerva, as his colleague, was the closest thing to it. And those thin threads that still connected him to Lily would be severed once again.

Severus recalled his conversation with Tonks the night before. It had not been difficult to be cruel to her, though his choice in words would not have been his first choice if circumstances had been different. It was better this way, he reminded himself. If he was cruel to them now it would make the moment he betrayed them easier to believe. The last thing he needed was another incident where Harry Potter made connections about his true loyalties and unwittingly passed them on to the Dark Lord.

Sniping at Tonks for her affections had perhaps been a low blow, but they were only the things he had told himself about his own affections. They were easy shots to take.

The Great Hall was full of students, full of energy, still bubbling with excitement about the new year. The first day of classes was always a thrilling one, before the drudgery of hard work set in. Severus noticed, though, as he took his seat at the teacher’s table, there was a marked difference. There was a unique desperation in the air as students reunited with friends, friends who they had worried about all summer. It was a strange sensation, one Severus remembered unfortunately well, to be reunited with someone who you worried might have died. 

Severus had hardly picked up his goblet when a collection of third years crowded around his table asking for their elective schedules. As Head of Slytherin House he was responsible for his students’ courses, but this summer had left him with little time to attend to such a menial task as approving his students course selections. Most professors handed out their course schedules to the students at the house tables. Even now, Severus could see Minerva making her way among her students. Severus, however, expected his students to take initiative. Slytherin House was about making your own way, fighting for your own success. His students came to him for what they needed.

The third years, at least, were easy. As long as no one tried to take anything with a scheduling conflict, they were fine to take whatever classes intrigued them. Hardly any Slytherins had ever taken Muggle Studies, which left them available for Care of Magical Creatures, and there were very few driven enough to be in Slytherin who also had an interest in the vague and unclear art of Divination, which opened up their schedules for the much more precise science of Arithmancy.

Sixth years schedules were more difficult.

Severus Appeared the third year course list and hastily approved students’ requests. Once his table was clear of them, he tapped his wand against the edge of the table and Appeared his sixth years’ O.W.L. results. They were disappointing, to say the least.

Slytherin was a house for the proud and ambitious, those who had high aspirations and would go on to achieve great things. Slytherin had turned out more Ministers for Magic than any other house. Yes, they had a reputation for Dark Wizards, but Ravenclaw, too, had turned out its fair share of Dark Wizards. And if you counted Peter Pettigrew — and Severus very much did — Gryffindor was not exempt. Only Hufflepuff had a spotless record.

This batch of Slytherins, though, was full of students whose parents held prestigious positions, and these students did not seem interested in working for much ambition of their own. 

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were prime examples. If Snape did not know their parents well, and was not interested in saving as much face as possible among Death Eaters, he would have had Crabbe and Goyle expelled from Hogwarts for their dismal O.W.L. results. As it was, he had a vested interest in at least making it appear like he cared for these particular students’ success, so he scheduled them for Remedial Defense Against the Dark Arts courses.

Severus finished each of his students’ schedules and proceeded to hand them out. Traditionally, he did this alphabetically, but this year he saved Draco Malfoy for last.

Malfoy noticed. 

Malfoy approached the table with a sour expression. 

“Welcome back, Mr. Malfoy,” Severus said, and handed Draco a course schedule. “You achieved two Outstandings, and a total of eight O.W.L.s. You should be quite proud. I’ve written a recommended schedule for you. I expect you’ll continue with Defense and Potions, as we discussed in your Career meeting. I’ve also added Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology, and History of Magic to your course list.”

“I don’t need all that,” Malfoy said. The disdain in his voice was clear. Severus realized he had a lot of work to do if he was going to earn Malfoy’s trust.

“You’ll need knowledge in quite a few fields if —”

“I’ll keep Potions and Defense. I don’t need the rest of that rubbish.”

Severus considered Malfoy. His face was paler than usual. Dark circles rimmed his eyes. It had not been an easy summer for him. It would not be an easy year. Draco had been given the same task Severus had, and it weighed just as heavily on much less experienced shoulders.

Severus chose his next words very carefully. “Your father would not appreciate you shirking your education. You’ll keep Charms and Transfiguration in addition to Potions and Defense. I recommend you continue History of Magic. Next year, I’d like to recommend you for Head Boy, and you’ll need —”

Malfoy laughed. It was bold, rash, and incredibly rude. “Next year? We’ll just see what happens next year.”

Malfoy snatched his schedule from Severus. With his own quill, he crossed off History of Magic, Herbology, and he nearly crossed off Charms next, but Severus tapped his wand and Vanished Malfoy’s quill.

“Your overconfidence is astounding indeed, Mr. Malfoy. You will certainly take Transfiguration and Charms. And please visit my office after dinner tonight. There are important things we need to discuss.”

Malfoy said nothing more. He tucked the schedule into his robes and stalked back to the Slytherin table. Severus watched Malfoy go and wondered what exactly the young man had planned. His brash comment seemed to indicate he had an idea of what he was doing. That only worried Severus more. Malfoy was young, impulsive, as Severus had been at his age. Severus had done plenty of damage with his own plans, and there had been a good bit of collateral with each execution.

But those had been pranks; no one had been permanently hurt. What Draco was attempting….

Severus worried. Not only would he die if he didn’t help Malfoy, thanks to the Vow he had made, he worried about who might get hurt if they got in Malfoy’s way, intentionally or accidentally. He worried about Malfoy hurting himself. It was too much to ask a boy to kill the man that the Dark Lord himself could not. 

But of course, the Dark Lord did not expect Draco to succeed. He meant for Severus to do it, in the end. And Severus would.

Severus left the staff table, ignored Flitwick’s cheerful greeting as they passed in the doorway, and headed to his new classroom. It had been easy to decorate, since Umbridge had not bothered with it herself. Snape had filled the blank walls with portraits portraying curses designed to induce a healthy fear of the Dark Arts into his students. Especially these days, the students needed to know what they were protecting themselves against. He hoped the rigor Mad-Eye Moody had drilled into them had not faded under Umbridge’s tutelage. 

His morning class of bright-eyed Ravenclaw first years gasped in terror as they entered. The bravest whispered about the portraits on the wall; most were utterly silent. He spent the hour pacing the rows of desks, cloak billowing behind him as he lectured about Curses, Jinxes, Hexes, and Charms. He promised them that by the end of the year they would be able to perform Stunning Spells and Shield Charms with ease, and if they had any fears about what would await them out there, they would learn to face those fears in here. He had them begin by practicing the Knockback Jinx. Ultimately harmless, especially among first years who hadn’t even learned Wand-Lighting Charms, but simple enough that by the end of the lesson two students could successfully knock their friends over.

He had his N.E.W.T.-level students next. It was a larger N.E.W.T.-level Defense course than these last few years. So large, in fact, that though most upper-level classes prepared sixth and seventh years together, this year’s Defense class was separated. 

Seventeen sixth-years were waiting for him when he opened his classroom doors.

Severus remembered how even in his time at school, Defense Against the Dark Arts was a crowded class, despite a similarly disjointed education. Students wanted to fight, on both sides of the war, and Defense Against the Dark Arts was the best place to learn to do that. 

But after Dolores Umbridge’s rigid lessons, centered on simple theory and text-book applications, Severus had not expected this many to pass their exam, let alone achieve “Exceeds Expectations.” Experience was the best teacher in many ways, and that saying was perhaps truest of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Perhaps the practical portion of the exam had simply been easier last year. 

Severus observed each student as they filed in. He’d had a long-standing policy of only accepting students with a score of “Outstanding” into his N.E.W.T.-level course, and he’d intended to continue that high standard as a Defense teacher. Unfortunately, there was only one student who had achieved an “Outstanding” in this class of students.

He was not surprised to see Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, not only because he had already approved them for the class, but because they were two of his most ambitious Slytherins, the two most willing to apply themselves to their studies. There were a handful of Ravenclaws, equally unsurprising. The Patil twins in particular were dedicated, and he would not have been disappointed to have them in his house. Then there were the Hufflepuffs. Susan Bones was no surprise, as her Aunt was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but Hannah Abbott and Ernie Macmillan were a surprise. Severus had never expected them to have the dedication necessary for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Stubborn determination did little good in subjects that required the finesse and ability to adapt that the Dark Arts and Potions demanded.

Then there were the Gryffindors. Severus counted the number of red-lined robes twice to be sure that nearly the entire house was present. Only two of the Gryffindor sixth years were not present.

Neville Longbottom was perhaps the biggest surprise. Severus wondered if his parents had helped him somehow, because he had not seen any skill in Longbottom before. Then again Neville had survived in the Department of Mysteries against thirteen Death Eaters, so perhaps there was something hidden deep down.

Lavender Brown and Seamus Finnigan, similarly, did not have the skill Severus expected of his students, but he had to admit that any Death Eater would be rightly terrified of Finnigan’s accidental explosions. Dean Thomas, at least, he expected to be in this class. Thomas had an ability to adapt and respond in a way most Gryffindors didn’t, in a way that served well in a duel.

Then there was Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. How Weasley had scraped an Exceeds Expectations was beyond him, but Hermione Granger’s studious nature was obvious as even now she was pulling out her textbook.

“I have not asked you to take out your books,” Severus said as he closed the door. He paced to the front of the classroom and turned, black cloak billowing as he faced the students. “I wish to speak to you, and I want your fullest attention.”

Granger was staring now, entirely focused. Her work ethic did not make up for nor compensate for something she was missing by being Muggleborn. She was so much like Lily, though he did not think her natural talent lay in Potions the way Lily’s had.

And of course… Severus’s gaze lingered on Harry for a moment. Those green eyes that were too painfully familiar. Of course Harry Potter had been the only student to achieve an “Outstanding” in his Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.

Experience was the best teacher indeed.

“You have had six teachers in this subject so far, I believe,” Severus continued, doing his best to forget that Lily had been one of them. “Naturally, these teachers will all have had their own methods and priorities. Given this confusion, I am surprised so many of you scraped an O.W.L. in this subject. I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T. work, which will be much more advanced.”

Severus walked between the desks as he had with the Ravenclaws, though there were considerably more students in this class. He slowed his speech, so that it would be evenly paced to his walk around the classroom.

“The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing, and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible. Your defenses must therefore be as flexible and inventive as the arts you seek to undo.”

Snape paused, stopping exactly where he had meant to, against the wall, beneath the portraits of curses. “These pictures,” he gestured to the frames above, “give a fair representation of what happens to those who suffer, for instance, the Cruciatus Curse —” Severus paused under a portrait of a wizard writhing in agony. His stomach turned both with the memory of his own experience and the knowledge that at least two of the students had felt the same pain he had “— feel the Dementor’s Kiss —” this portrait was of a wizard who had a blank look on his face, no emotion, expression empty, and Snape knew, again, that one student was familiar with the sensation of having his soul torn from his body “— or provoke the aggression of the Inferius.” 

The pile of bloody bodies had several students gasp in horror and Parvati Patil squeaked out, “Has an Inferius been seen, then? Is it definite, is he using them?” 

Severus did not appreciate being interrupted, but having seen a small army of Inferi ravage a Muggle town, he did not begrudge Patil her fear. 

“The Dark Lord has used Inferi in the past,” he said, “which means you would be well-advised to assume he might use them again.”

The drama of introducing each portrait had faded with Patil’s outburst, so Severus returned to the front of the classroom. “Now, you are, I believe, complete novices in the use of nonverbal spells. What is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?” 

Unsurprisingly, Granger raised her hand. Severus waited for any other student to participate, certain it was a question with such a simple answer that someone had to know it, but no one else volunteered.

“Very well — Miss Granger?”

Her answer was accurate and academic. “Your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you’re about to perform, which gives you a split-second advantage.” 

“An answer copied almost word for word from The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six, but correct in essentials. Yes, those who progress to using magic without shouting incantations gain an element of surprise in their spell-casting. Not all wizards can do this, of course; it is a question of concentration and mind power which some,” Severus could not help but recall the dismal Occlumency lessons in which Potter put forward little effort, “lack.”

He saw Lily’s fury reflected in Potter’s glare and quickly turned his gaze on the rest of the class. It was difficult enough to think of her and of James each time he saw Potter. It was worse to know that Potter knew it, too.

“You will now divide into pairs,” he told the class. “One partner will attempt to jinx the other without speaking. The other will attempt to repel the jinx in equal silence. Carry on.” 

The lesson was something of a disaster. The students paired within their houses, easily enough, though the trio of Hufflepuffs clustered together, since the odd number of students prevented perfect pairs. As Severus had expected, the few successful spells he witnessed were the result of cheating. Students did their best to whisper their spells out of earshot, which at least was a step in the right direction. The danger was that whispering or muttering spells could muddy intent and lead to poor casting. This was obvious when Finnigan muttered “ _Expelliarmus_ ,” and Thomas yelped as he failed to repel a small explosion.

Granger was the only student who had any success. She repelled Longbottom’s muttered Jelly-Legs Jinx without moving her mouth at all. Her Shield Charm was small, and would not have survived a spell from a competent caster, but it was better progress than Weasley and Potter were making.

Weasley’s face was nearly purple with the effort of focusing on his jinx, and Potter stood across from him, wand raised half-heartedly, clearly unprepared to defend himself appropriately. Severus could not see how Potter deserved to look so smug and confident simply because his partner was incompetent.

“Pathetic, Weasley,” Severus said, as he strode to their aisle. “Here — let me show you —” He threw a simple Stunning Spell at Potter, but the red spark was hardly at the tip of his wand when Potter shouted, “ _Protego_!”

Severus’s curse rebounded and he was thrown into a desk. He remembered Lily’s powerful Shield Charm and thought Harry had had much better teachers than Umbridge.

When he had recovered his breath and smoothed his robes, Severus said, “Do you remember me telling you we are practicing _nonverbal spells_ , Potter?”

Potter, voice entirely bitter and unashamed, said, “Yes.”

“‘Yes, sir,’” Severus corrected.

“There’s no need to call me ‘sir,’ Professor.”

Snape let the silence linger for a moment, waited for the gasps of a few of the more appalled students to fade, and said, “Detention, Saturday night, my office. I do not take cheek from anyone, Potter, not even ‘ _the Chosen One_ ’.”

He continued his walk across the classroom, to correct Parkinson’s stance, which was sure to get her knocked over if Malfoy landed a hit. So far Malfoy hadn’t, but Severus thought that might have more to do with Malfoy dating Parkinson than it did with any skill on Malfoy’s part.

The rest of the class passed uneventfully. There were no successes besides Granger, and Severus was left feeling less than optimistic about the sixth year’s chances on their N.E.W.T.s, much less out in the real world.

The only class that showed any talent was his Slytherin third years. He had two that were able to produce fully-realized Shield Charms, and Stunned their peers with ease. They were quite comfortable with many defensive spells, and Severus was surprised to discover that though one, Atalanta Shafiq was expectedly a pure-blood, the other, Hugh Ward, was only a half-blood, so he probably had not learned from his parents. He wished all his students showed their aptitude and dedication.

Severus headed down to the Great Hall for dinner. He kept an eye on the Slytherin table, hoping Malfoy would seek him out before the end of the meal, or might follow him to his office that evening. Though, judging from his conversation with the boy at breakfast, Malfoy was not particularly interested in anyone’s help.

Still, Severus kept an eye on him as he sat between Crabbe and Goyle. Usually Malfoy was showing off for his friends, making himself the center of attention. This evening he seemed sullen and morose. He picked at his food disinterestedly, and made no attempt to engage Crabbe and Goyle, who devoted all their focus to their meal instead.

“My, my, Severus,” an unfortunately familiar voice said, and the chair beside Severus creaked under the enormous weight of Horace Slughorn, “you didn’t tell me what a brilliant Potions class those sixth years are.”

Severus had not considered any of the sixth years particularly adept at Potions. He watched as Slughorn tucked his napkin into the collar of his robes and immediately began to dig into the roasted duck.

“It must have slipped my mind.” Severus wondered which students Slughorn could possibly be talking about. He didn’t think very many had even achieved an “Outstanding” on their O.W.L.

“That Granger girl is certainly something,” Slughorn said. “Not a natural, not like yourself, of course, but her dedication is truly impressive! With her ambition, she could have easily been in our house! Never seen someone so studious, not in many, many years.”

Severus recalled Slughorn making similar comments about another Muggleborn girl who had gone to Gryffindor, another girl Slughorn was certain should have belonged to Slytherin. Severus, too, wished she had gone to Slytherin, but he was not sure it would have changed very much between them. Perhaps it would have only made things worse.

“I take it she won the contest you do each year?” Severus remembered his sixth and seventh year N.E.W.T. classes. He remembered smelling Amortentia and knowing exactly what that floral spray meant. He hadn’t needed the potion to tell him where his heart was focused. He stuffed a helping of potato into his mouth, hoping to hide the flush in his face.

“Oh, goodness, no, Harry Potter did of course.”

Severus choked on his bite of potato.

“There, there, Severus.” Slughorn patted him on the back. “Don’t go gorging yourself too quickly or you’ll end up looking like me!” He laughed good-naturedly and took another bite of his duck. When he had chewed and swallowed, and Severus had washed his food down with a glass of water, Slughorn said, “I can’t believe you didn’t warn me about Potter. He has his mother’s talent, certainly! I haven’t seen a Draught of Living Death brewed with such delicacy since… since… well, since you and her were in my class. The two of you competed very fiercely for that Felix Felicis, if I recall.”

“Yes, we did.” Severus was careful to keep his voice even. He did not need rumors of his affections spreading beyond the company of Death Eaters who already knew. He also did not understand how Potter could have succeeded so brilliantly as to warrant this praise from Slughorn. Surely Slughorn’s admiration was clouded by his belief that Potter was “The Chosen One.” There was no other explanation.

Severus tuned Slughorn out as he began to carry on about other success stories in his class. Severus had little interest in being reminded of old classmates just now, and instead returned to watching Draco. But when he searched the Slytherin table, it appeared that Draco had already slipped away.

“Excuse me,” Severus said abruptly, and stood.

Slughorn gaped for a moment, mouth opening and closing like a fish searching for air, but as Severus slipped away, Slughorn quickly turned to Flitwick, and continued the conversation as if nothing had happened.

Severus was halfway down the stairs of the entrance hall when a voice only marginally more welcome than Slughorn’s called to him from above.

“Severus — might I have a brief word?”

Severus stopped and turned to face Dumbledore. “You might, sir.”

“I have heard that Potter already has a detention with you this Saturday.”

“My apologies, Professor Dumbledore. I shall make a note that ‘the Chosen One’ is exempt from such consequences for misbehaving.”

“Come now, Severus, there’s no need for that.”

“I do not tolerate disrespect from my students, so if —”

“Severus, you seem to be quite on edge tonight. Has something happened?”

Severus took a moment to swallow down more than just the potato he’d choked on at dinner. He was always on edge when they discussed Potter, and Slughorn had not made this conversation any easier.

“You said you needed a brief word, Professor,” Severus said, “so if you merely wanted to excuse Potter from detention, I should be on my way to find Malfoy, sir.”

“I’ve no wish to excuse Harry from detentions from you nor any other teacher. You decide how to teach your class. But I would ask that you reschedule his detention for Saturday next instead. I have business with him this Saturday and find my calendar rather difficult to rearrange these days.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “You have business with Potter?”

“Saturday next, then, for his detention? I do not wish to keep you any longer, Severus.”

Severus had hardly nodded his agreement before Dumbledore had turned up the stairs and headed back to the Great Hall.

Severus walked to his office, head swimming from his two conversations. What exactly did Dumbledore want with Potter? And why did Slughorn think Potter was worthy of receiving the Felix Felicis? Surely Malfoy should have been the most exceptional Potions student. If Malfoy had been given it, perhaps others would be less likely to be hurt…. Or perhaps Potter’s success was a blessing in disguise.

Snape was so wrapped in thought, he did not notice that his office door was ajar until he reached for the handle, and found it just out of place. He pushed the door open cautiously, hoping to find Malfoy inside. 

He was disappointed. There was only a black cat perched on his desk, with intelligent grey eyes that tracked Severus as he entered.

Severus’s dark eyes glanced at the thin white stripe running down the cat’s chest. “You aren’t worried Potter’ll catch you, then? With that highly illegal map of his?”

The cat flicked its tail once. Severus did not know what this meant.

He did not close the door behind him — the last thing he needed was to have to get up and let the cat out again. “I told Malfoy to meet me down here after dinner.” Severus glanced at the clock on the wall and realized it was nearly curfew. “It seems he has decided not to show. If he won’t listen to me, I’m not sure how much more help you can be.”

The cat continued to stare at him with large, grey eyes. Its fur was so sleek and black it almost blended into the dark wood top of Severus’s desk. If it were not for the eyes and the streak of white, it would be difficult in the dimly lit office to determine if there truly was a cat sitting on the desk.

Severus sat down at his desk, thinking the cat might leave if he got too close. Instead, the cat stretched out on the desk and lounged as if it were settling in for a nap.

“I imagine you remember where the Slytherin common room is,” Severus said. “You’ll have better luck sniffing him out there, as much as I might wish he were here.”

The cat yawned and stretched again. Its claws scratched the surface of Severus’s desk. He refrained from expressing his irritation.

“The password is ‘Morgan le Fay’ at the moment, though I’m not sure it’ll be useful to you in that shape. If you hurry, you might have some luck slipping in after students hurrying not to get caught out after curfew.”

The cat did not seem interested in hurrying anywhere. It yawned one more time, blinked at him, then lazily hopped down from the desk. Severus could not see it cross the floor, but he assumed it was making its way out of his office and towards the Slytherin common room, on its way to help Draco Malfoy with his highly dangerous task. Or, more accurately, prevent Draco from truly succeeding.

Severus could not do that. He must help Malfoy succeed, and his goal was to make sure no one else got hurt. Regulus Black, however, had not made an Unbreakable Vow. Regulus had not promised to help Draco succeed at any cost. Regulus had not promised to protect Draco no matter what. And Regulus had not promised to kill Dumbledore should Draco fail.

So Severus would do it. When the time came, Severus would kill Dumbledore, and all his ties with the Order would end — all except for one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated!


	10. The House of Gaunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry shares some secrets with his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's February. Oof. Really wanted to write something sooner. C'est la vie.
> 
> Special thanks to ageofzero and magic713 for being the guinea pigs for this chapter. Always appreciate their insights. And also welcome somebodyswatson aboard the beta-team, specifically to beta-read for Americanisms and Transfigure them into proper Britishisms so that it reads more like Harry Potter ought to. This project has grown so much from its conception, and I'm so glad to have a team to help me bring you the best version of it. Enjoy!

Harry’s head was still swimming with a strange thrill of success when they sat down for dinner after their first day of classes. The Felix Felicis was tucked away in the breast pocket of his robes, the safest place he could think of until he could return to the common room with his friends. 

“If you got that lucky,” Ron said as he piled his plate with roast potatoes, “you’d be the last person who needed the luck potion. Come on, what did you do?”

“You’ve never done better than me in Potions,” Hermione said, her voice full of a particular brand of acid that she usually reserved for Ron. 

But Harry, still thrilled with his success, was unhurt by her comment. He’d only ever managed to outdo Hermione in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and it was nice to have succeeded in something else for once, something he didn’t feel destined to succeed in.

“Maybe I’ve learned a bit from my Mum,” he said. “I brewed my own Essence of Dittany with an Infusion of Silver this summer. Even helped with a handful of Blood-Replenishing Potions.” He kept an intentionally cheeky grin as he said it, though. He would tell Ron and Hermione about the book — but later, in the common room, where they were less likely to be overheard.

Once they were seated in a quiet corner, where Harry was mostly hidden behind an overstuffed chair in order to avoid the gaping eyes of first-years and the handful of fourth and fifth year girls who had taken a fashion to saying shy “hellos” to him in the hallway, though he’d never spoken to them before, Harry showed them his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ and told them about the previous owner’s additional instructions.

Hermione’s irritation transformed into cold judgement as Harry spoke, as if each of his words was part of a lengthy Transfiguration spell.

“I s’pose you think I cheated?” he asked her, once he had finished explaining.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly your own work, was it?”

“He only followed different instructions from ours,” said Ron, who was squinting at the cramped writing beside a recipe for Invigoration Draught. “Could’ve been a catastrophe, couldn’t it? But he took a risk, and it paid off. Slughorn could’ve handed me that book, but no, I get the one no one’s ever written on. Puked on by the look of page 52.”

Harry, without meaning to, tuned out Ron’s complaints. He had become distracted by a familiar scent that entered the common room. It was earthy, like his family’s garden, like the Burrow, like the Quidditch pitch — like the Amortentia he had smelled downstairs just hours ago. Then Ginny leaned over Harry to snatch the book out of Ron’s hands and he caught a whiff of the same floral shampoo he had smelled last night, when he’d told her about the prophecy. He hadn’t been able to identify it then, as caught up as he’d been in the prophecy, but he’d smelled it again in the Potions classroom, and he knew it was jasmine. It was the same scent he caught in the garden each summer. He had wondered if the Amortentia was simply telling him he missed home. Now he wondered if it was telling him something else.

“Did I hear right?” Ginny said, apparently unconcerned with the way her long, loose red hair brushed Harry’s cheek. “You’ve been taking orders from something someone wrote in a book, Harry?”

She looked both frightened and furious. Harry was eager to allay her fears.

“It’s just something someone wrote in a textbook — it’s nothing like Riddle’s diary.”

“But you’re doing what it says?”

“I just tried a few of the tips written in the margins, Ginny. Honestly, there’s nothing funny —”

Hermione, though, seemed almost excited at the idea that this potions textbook, with notes from a former student, might be tantamount to the diary that had possessed Ginny and forced her to unleash a basilisk on the other students at Hogwarts.

“Ginny’s got a point,” she said. “We ought to check that there’s nothing odd about it. I mean, all these funny instructions, who knows?”

Ginny quickly handed the book over to Hermione before Harry could grab it from her. 

“Hey —”

Hermione tapped her wand on the cover. “ _Specialis Revelio_!”

Harry remembered trying a similar spell on Tom Riddle’s diary. He did not think that if this book was hiding comparable dark secrets, her spell would work any better than his had. 

As expected, the book lay flat on the floor undamaged, apart from the wear and tear it had sustained years previously.

“Finished?” Harry asked. “Or d’you want to wait and see if it does a few backflips?”

He reached for it, but Ginny leaned in and snatched it first. She squinted at the cramped handwriting in the margins and turned it over. “Writing’s familiar, though, isn’t it? Ah —” she looked at the bottom of the back cover. “‘This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince,’” she read. “Who’s the Half-Blood Prince?”

“How should I know?” Harry finally grabbed the book from Ginny. “This book’s older than I am, I’d bet.” He managed to hide his disappointment at the name in a feigned irritation with his friends.

Harry’d had a wild thought in the middle of the Potions lesson that perhaps the book had belonged to his mother. The handwriting hadn’t been hers, but the way the notes were written and the commentary they offered up about the initial author of the book had reminded him of her notes about the Essence of Dittany recipe. Unfortunately, this new discovery erased any possibility the co-author might have been his mother. She was neither a half-blood nor a prince. Besides that, as he’d already checked, the publication date was long before his mother had attended school.

“I still think you shouldn’t use it,” Hermione warned.

Harry did not plan to take her warning very seriously.

When he and Ron did finally make it upstairs to their dormitory, Harry tucked the Felix Felicis into a set of socks and buried it at the bottom of his trunk. He hid it away where he had tucked away another equally precious item, which he now removed. 

Once Harry was certain none of the other boys were going to make use of the shower, Harry went inside, locked the door, and turned on the water to mask his voice as he pulled the recently repaired two-way mirror from the pocket of his robes.

Even though Umbridge was no longer searching through students’ post and limiting Harry’s contact with his family, James and Sirius had made sure to mend the shattered mirror before Harry returned to school. It was a convenient way to stay in touch, and Harry prefered talking to his parents face to face, more or less, instead of trying to parse their thoughts and worries from carefully crafted letters.

“Mum? Dad?” he said into the mirror. His breath fogged it over, and once it had cleared he had a good view of the kitchen, as if he were standing in front of the fireplace. He could see James helping Picksie finish the dishes, and Lily sitting at the small table with a small collection of letters in front of her. She was the first to look up at the mantle and the worry that was creased on her face vanished behind a relieved smile.

“Harry!” She walked over to the fireplace and took the mirror down. Harry’s view of the kitchen shifted dramatically, and became mostly consumed with Lily’s face as she sat back down at the table. “How was your first day?”

“Great — er, mostly. How are things at home? Where’s Sirius?”

“We’re alright here at home. Sirius has gone north to track a lead on some Death Eater recruiters. I’m organizing some reports for the Order and sorting out urgent information for Dumbledore. Your father’s done his part for the Order by making us an exceptional cherry pie.”

Harry laughed, because appreciating his mother’s joke was more pleasant than admitting he already missed home, and would have loved some of his father’s pie. 

“What about you? What subjects did you have today?”

“I get a free period until lunch, so that’s nice,” Harry said. “But after that is Defense Against the Dark Arts with Snape.”

Lily’s smile was sympathetic, and Harry saw James approach over her shoulder.

“Sorry about that, Snitch,” James said. “We know he isn’t your favorite professor. But he’s been after that position for years. It was only a matter of time before Dumbledore ran out of candidates for the job.”

“I know Mum’s already tried, but you could come back and teach it,” Harry said.

Lily shook her head. “I love your father too much to let him take on a cursed teaching position. Nearly losing you to a basilisk was enough for us, I think.”

“Besides, Snape is very good at Defense, if I recall,” James said. “I’m sure there’s loads you can learn from him.”

“Good at the Dark Arts, maybe,” Harry grumbled. He bit down on his lip and reluctantly told them the least exciting part of his day: “I already got a detention from Snape.”

Their disappointed faces were as heartbreaking as Harry had expected, but neither of them mentioned grounding Harry, or punishing him any further as they might have when he was younger. 

“What for?” James asked.

“Cheek.”

“Did you deserve it?” Lily asked.

“Maybe a little.”

“I don’t expect you and Snape to get on,” James said. “I’ve certainly never managed it myself, but I think you’ll learn a bit more from him if you keep your head down and do your best not to rise to any bait, no matter how tempting it might be, alright?”

“He singles me out!” Harry protested. “I even apologized for what happened this summer, but he’s no less a git than he was before. Isn’t he on our side?”

“Of course he is,” said Lily, “but Harry — perhaps you should talk to Dumbledore about it. He’ll be able to give you a better insight on Snape, and perhaps have the most influence over Snape’s behavior. You know Snape’s relationship with the two of us is complicated, and unless you want us to insist you be removed from Defense class —”

“No. I need to know Defense.”

“Then talk to Dumbledore. That might be your best option. Though if you deserve that detention, I’m not about to write an owl to Snape asking for you to be excused.”

Harry did knew he deserved the detention, though he didn’t regret what he’d said in the least. “No, I’ll do it. It’s just one Saturday. I’ll just have to move Gryffindor Quidditch try-outs back a week.” Truthfully, he was moving Gryffindor try-outs because he had a lesson with Dumbledore this coming Saturday, but he still wasn’t keen on explaining that to his parents. 

“Potions went better, though,” Harry said, eager to change the subject to a more positive topic.

“So you are doing Potions!” James smiled. “I wondered, with Dumbledore hiring Slughorn.”

“I’m glad,” said Lily, and she truly looked proud. “I know you were disappointed in your O.W.L. results. What do you think of Slughorn as a teacher?”

“Theatrical,” Harry said. “Still dotes on his favorites, but he seems to know his stuff well enough. He doesn’t have any care for Malfoy, which is a nice change, since Snape favoured him all the time. And he likes that Hermione knows her stuff. And he actually awards points to Gryffindor.”

“Sounds like an improvement, all-in-all,” James said. “Did he do his usual song and dance, with the Felix Felicis and Amortentia? I remember scrambling to win that Felix Felicis. I wanted it for the Quidditch championship.”

“Which would have been illegal,” Lily reminded him.

James only shrugged with a smile.

“Well,” Harry said, trying and failing to suppress a wide smile, “I promise I won’t use it on a Quidditch match.”

Lily gasped. “Did you really? Harry, that’s impressive!”

James’s grin was as wide as Harry’s. “Congratulations.”

“But I’ll need potions supplies. And a copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_.” Harry didn’t have any intention of giving up the Half-Blood Prince’s copy, but he also had no intention of letting his parents know he had a copy with altered instructions inside, especially now that he was certain the instructions weren’t his mother’s.

“Of course, we’ll get those for you in Diagon Alley and have them sent over,” Lily assured him. “I’m glad your first Potions class went over so well. I expect you get it from me. Though I suppose all the extra work you’ve put into helping me this summer helped a good deal.”

Harry grinned, wishing for all the world that she was right. “I’m sure your notes in the book you gave me for my birthday will help.”

“Just promise not to use any of my comments in any essays for Slughorn,” Lily laughed. “He and I got into some atrocious rows over Potions theory. He’s a bit more… traditional than I was.”

Harry could not imagine Slughorn getting into a row with anyone. He seemed so amenable, particularly to people like Lily, who were gifted in their field, but Harry wasn’t sure he wanted further details. “I’ll remember that. Er — one more question…. You said he did the Amortentia when you took Potions. Do you… remember what it smelled like? Was it each other? Or was it just whoever you were going out with at the time?”

Lily blushed and James grinned.

“It did not smell like the girl I was dating at the time,” James said. “But I already knew who I liked and knew I was going out with the wrong girl. It didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. Your mother, on the other hand….”

Lily sighed, but her cheeks were still pink. “To be fair, what I smelled in the Amortentia wasn’t anything I didn’t already know, they were just things I didn’t want to know. Amortentia won’t tell you your true love, Harry, any more than it can create true love. It will just remind you of what you’re already attracted to.”

“If you’re really hung up on it,” James said, “you can do what your mother did, and nick a bunch of Slughorn’s potions supplies, and brew your own Amortentia in the prefect’s bathroom.”

Lily glared up at James. “That was a controlled experiment! I was… testing something.”

“Testing whether or not it smelled my cologne because I had leaned over to get a better whiff of Amortentia or because you were actually attracted to it?”

“I did not smell your cologne! I smelled — well — it was the Quidditch pitch. Or something earthy like it.”

“Like home,” Harry said, startled that he and his mother had this strange thing in common.

Lily looked surprised. “Yes. I suppose they are similar scents. Freshly cut grass, recently tilled earth, that sort of thing.”

“I smelled your mother’s shampoo,” James said. “Which is why when I caught her with a cauldron in the prefect’s bathroom, at first I thought I’d discovered the potion she used to make her hair so silky.”

“Oh, stop. You knew what it was and you teased me about it for months.”

“Sure. Once I saw the unique curls of steam and caught the smokier scent that reminded me of your temper and Sirius’s cigarettes, I knew what it was.”

Harry frowned. “Dad — why did the potion remind you of Sirius?”

James laughed. “It’s about what you’re attracted to, isn’t it? I love your mother’s temper and your mother, at times, reminds me of Sirius. Attraction and love are related, but they aren’t the same. Love is choice. It’s hard work and dedication. It’s a decision you make each day you decide to be with someone.” James leaned in closer to Lily and kissed the top of her head. “Attraction’s just a really good start.”

“Okay, thanks, that’s enough.” Harry had known it would be difficult enough to talk to his parents about Amortentia, and it had finally reached the “more than I ever wanted to know about my parents” category.

Lily seemed to understand. She smiled and said, “We’ll let you get some rest, Harry.”

“Oh — before I go — did you talk to Tonks today?”

James frowned. “She stopped in this morning to try to catch Sirius before he left, but she’d just missed him. Why? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, fine.” So Tonks had had an opportunity to tell his parents about his eavesdropping on Malfoy and she hadn’t. He was grateful. 

Harry yawned, hoping to hide his lie of omission. “I just saw her before the feast, since she was stationed at Hogwarts for the night. Wondered if she was alright.”

Lily and James didn’t seem to buy this explanation, but they didn’t press him further.

“Good night, Snitch,” said James. “Sweet dreams, alright?”

“Sure,” Harry said, a bit dismally, but he could only hope. “No dreams,” might have been a more realistic approach. But he didn’t correct his father. He only said, “You too,” knowing sweet dreams were a similarly difficult task for his parents, who worried about him far too much.

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Dear Mum and Dad,

I hope all is well at home. It’s only been a day at school and I miss you very much. We had Defense Against the Dark Arts today, and it is very challenging. We are learning silent spellcasting, and I can’t master it very well. But it’s only been one lesson. Maybe Harry or Hermione will be able to help me. Hermione is already doing very well.

I know Gran will be disappointed, but McGonagall would not let me continue Transfiguration. She said she was proud of my “A” but she only took students on who had achieved an “E” or above. She insisted I take Charms, though, and while it’s nice to be in a class with good friends — all of Gryffindor is taking Charms — I do feel like I’ve let Gran down a bit.

Herbology is wonderful, though! Professor Sprout is glad to have me in class, and she was very pleased with my “Outstanding,” almost as impressed as Mr. Potter was. 

I know you’ve both said not to worry about you while I’m at school, but I do worry. I hope you are both safe. I was wondering what it was like during the first war. Did the two of you fight You-Know-Who a lot before I was born? Do you know how many times?

I was just wondering. Again, I hope you’re both safe. I love you very much!

Love,

Neville

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Cedric — 

I hope all is well. I don’t know how bad it is at the Ministry these days, but I bet it can’t be easy. I had a sort of private lesson with Dumbledore tonight, and I already talked it over with Ron, Hermione, and Neville, but I thought you might be interested in it, too. Dumbledore’s decided to teach me stuff about Voldemort this year, stuff that he thinks might help me defeat him. I don’t totally understand how, but you might understand it better. 

Tonight, Dumbledore showed me a memory of Bob Ogden. He used to work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I don’t know if he was an Auror or not. He said he was the head of some Squad or something. In the memory he was delivering a court summons. Is that something you do as an Auror? I guess that’s not really important. It wasn’t what he was doing that Dumbledore wanted to show me, it was who he was going to meet that Dumbledore wanted me to see.

There was this family called the Gaunt family. They lived outside of a village called Little Hangleton, and they claimed to be really important purebloods, descended from the Peverell family and the Slytherin family. They might have been right. Everyone in the family could speak Parseltongue. It was strange, being able to understand them in the memory, when even Dumbledore and Ogden didn’t know what they were saying.

Ogden was there to deliver a court summons to the son, Morfin, because Morfin had hexed a Muggle. Morfin also hexed Ogden when he arrived, and his dad, Marvolo Gaunt wasn’t even sorry about it. He said a lot of terrible things about Muggles and Muggle-borns. While Ogden was trying to explain about Morfin being in trouble, Marvolo put on this big speech about his family history, and showed Ogden the big black-stone ring that proved he was a Peverell and he nearly choked his daughter showing off Salazar Slytherin’s locket.

I think he really hated his daughter. He was cruel to her, called her a Squib, and said mean things about her in front of Ogden and everything. And when her brother told the father she liked looking at one of the Muggles in town, he nearly choked her to death. I think he might’ve if Ogden hadn’t been there to intervene, and if Ogden hadn’t come back and arrested Morfin and Marvolo.

It was a horrible memory to witness, and after it was over Dumbledore explained to me that the family is Voldemort’s family. The daughter Merope was his mother. The Muggle she liked was Tom Riddle, Voldemort’s father. Dumbledore thinks she used a love potion to make him leave his Muggle girlfriend. At some point, she stopped using it and he left her alone with the baby, and I guess she must have died some time after Voldemort was born, but she named him Tom Marvolo Riddle, after his father and grandfather.

I don’t know why Dumbledore showed me all this and told me about Voldemort’s parents, but he promised it was important. More interesting, I thought, was what Dumbledore had on his desk. He had the ring that Marvolo wore in the memory. I remembered he was wearing it the night he stopped by my house, too. Slughorn even recognized it, I think, when we visited him. I asked Dumbledore if he’d always had it, but he said he’d only gotten it recently — around the time he’d injured his hand. He’s hurt it so badly, it’s practically useless, but he won’t tell me what he did to it, or what it’s got to do with the ring, or why the ring has a huge crack in it now. I know it’s something about Voldemort, of course, but I can’t figure out what.

He also had Salazar Slytherin’s locket on his desk. It wasn’t broken but…. There was something about the locket. I didn’t like being in the same room with it. I guess it has something to do with Slytherin? He wouldn’t tell me where he got the locket, either. Only that a mutual friend of ours had given it to him. That could be anyone, though. Practically everyone I know would be considered a friend of Dumbledore’s.

I don’t know what to make of it all, exactly. I don’t know if you know any more, but I know you were very determined this summer to fight Voldemort, so I thought you should know what I know, at least.

One more thing…. I didn’t tell Dumbledore that I’d be telling you all of this. I knew I would tell Ron and Hermione and Neville, and Dumbledore seemed to agree that it’d be hard for me to keep it from them, but I didn’t mention that I’d write it to you. Not that I think you and Dumbledore take tea regularly, but these lessons are sort of secret. 

Regardless, I hope you’re well. And I hope you’re safe.

— Harry

—————————— ✶✶✶——————————

Dear Harry,

It was great to hear from you. All is well here, for now. It’s terribly busy, of course, but I’ve managed to slip away to Grimmauld Place for a few hours and thought I’d take the time to write to you. It’s curiously empty; I’m not sure where Regulus Black has gotten off to. Makes it a bit harder to nap in the parlor, wondering if he’s going to appear suddenly. But he disappeared often enough while we were here that summer, didn’t he? So maybe it’s nothing strange at all.

Your letter was especially interesting. I’ve managed to do a bit of digging, as I have access to records as an Auror that you might not find with your Hogwarts library card. Bob Ogden was a fairly decorated Hit Wizard who eventually became an Auror and moved up into administrative roles from there. The memory you described seems to have taken place about seventy years ago. I was able to find the Aurors’ arrest report for Marvolo and Morfin Gaunt, and the transcripts of their trials. They certainly weren’t my favorite sort of purebloods. Seems like inbreeding and ancestors who squandered their wealth left the Gaunts fairly unhappy with a lot of pride in blood and no interest in work.

I wasn’t able to find any sort of birth records for Merope Gaunt’s son. I don’t know if I have to dig deeper at St. Mungo’s or if there just aren’t any, but I expect Dumbledore’s not wrong. He’d know for certain, as Tom Marvolo Riddle would have been recorded in the Book of Admittance when he was born, if he were eligible for Hogwarts. I can’t imagine anyone other than a Gaunt would saddle their child with a name like Marvolo.

I don’t know if you picked up on this, since you witnessed Bob Ogden’s memory, but that village that you mentioned, Little Hangleton, happens to be home to the same graveyard you and I were transported to at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. I don’t remember everything that happened when we were there, but when you were telling Dumbledore what happened, you mentioned the potion Voldemort used to resurrect himself. He mentioned something about his father’s bone, didn’t he? It would make sense if his father, Tom Riddle, was buried there.

You also mentioned that Morfin was initially being summoned because he’d hexed a Muggle, and I found that in his initial arrest record. But he was also arrested almost seventeen years later for murdering that same muggle — Tom Riddle. I wonder if he was upset that his sister had run off with a Muggle? Seventeen years seems like a long time to wait for revenge, but he seemed mad judging by the transcripts of his sentencing. Kept going on and on about how his father would kill him for losing the family ring. I wonder how it fell into Dumbledore’s possession. If Dumbledore tells you, you’ll have to let me know.

I can see why Dumbledore doesn’t want this kind of information spreading. Imagine if Voldemort knew just how much Dumbledore knew about him! I’m happy to keep my knowledge a secret, though I should warn you, I took a friend who’s a Hit Wizard out to Little Hangleton with me. When I made the connection between Little Hangleton and Voldemort’s father, I had to see for myself if the graveyard was the same place, and I wasn’t sure I’d be alright going on my own. I didn’t tell him anything, not even that it might be a lead on Voldemort. I told him it was a personal curiosity — which was true — and he didn’t press me. Thelborne’s that kind of friend. It’s nice. I don’t know many of the other wizards who’d be willing to take their day off to go tromping around a Muggle village looking at headstones with me.

We also found the Gaunt house, or what was left of it. It’s been falling apart for centuries, it seems like. It looked like someone had been there recently, and I told Thelborne it was probably just kids getting themselves into trouble, but I wonder if it wasn’t Voldemort himself….

I hope you found my letter as interesting as I found yours. And I hope your studies are going well. Quidditch season should be starting up soon. Is everything alright with that? I can’t imagine Dumbledore is enforcing Umbridge’s ban.

Look forward to hearing from you soon.

— Cedric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always welcome.


	11. Hermione's Helping Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione does her part for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you are all healthy and safe. I'm doing well, though I am under quarantine. We're in a "shelter in place" sort of situation, and since I live with my grandmother, I'm being very careful to avoid people. It's difficult, as an extrovert, but it's given me more time to write, since schools are closed and I can't see my friends.
> 
> I'm not promising weekly updates, but certainly they'll be more frequent. Hopefully I can provide some sort of normalcy for you all in this difficult and stressful time.

Hermione Granger was easily stressed, and this year’s lessons were exacerbating that particular flaw of hers. Each day felt as if she was cramming weeks of content into her head, and the subject matter itself was more complex than she was used to. Transfiguration theory was growing far more challenging than her Arithmancy classes, which were already complex enough. Nonverbal spells were expected in all lessons, which while challenging, was not as frustrating as Harry’s new-found success in Potions.

Hermione believed in concrete, factual, evidence-based research. It was why Divination had been such a struggle for her. Divination created patterns where there were none and broke rules it created itself. It was why Hermione loved Arithmancy, because all theories were observable and provable. Potions was supposed to be more like Arithmancy. She followed the instructions, she learned about ingredients, their properties, and how those properties interacted with each other. To find that this Half-Blood Prince, and by extension Harry, suddenly knew more than she could learn from her textbook did not make sense to her. This was why Harry’s success bothered her. It had nothing to do with jealousy nor frustration that her usual position as top of the class was crumbling beneath her.

At least, despite her struggles to keep up with Harry in Potions, Slughorn had easily picked her out as one of his best students. It felt nice to be recognized for her hard work in Potions, for a change. The tradeoff was that Defense Against the Dark Arts was more challenging than ever, but Hermione was slowly getting a grasp of nonverbal spells, and a lot of her success was a result of Harry’s teaching. It was surprising to see Harry struggle in Defense, a subject he was usually at the top of. Hermione was certain that it had less to do with a nonverbal spell-block and more to do with a Snape-block.

Snape wasn’t the only professor they were having issues with. Hagrid was no longer speaking with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. At least, he pretended not to hear their greetings at mealtimes. None of them had yet gathered up the courage to tell Hagrid they hadn’t had an interest in taking Care of Magical Creatures at the N.E.W.T. level, and it had clearly upset Hagrid.

“We’ve got to go and explain,” she said at breakfast that Saturday morning.

Ron made a noise of protest around his orange juice. He swallowed and said, “We’ve got Quidditch tryouts this morning. And we’re supposed to be practicing that Aguamenti Charm from Flitwick! Anyway, explain what? How are we going to tell him we hated his stupid subject?” 

It was Hermione’s turn to whine in protest. “We didn’t hate it!”

“Speak for yourself, I haven’t forgotten the skrewts. And I’m telling you now, we’ve had a narrow escape. You didn’t hear him going on about his gormless brother at the Welcome Feast — we’d have been teaching Grawp how to tie his shoelaces if we’d stayed.” 

“I hate not talking to Hagrid,” said Hermione, looking upset.

Harry, eyes focused on his plate and studiously ignoring Ron and Hermione, managed to interject with, “We’ll go down after Quidditch.” He put his fork down and ran his hands through his hair suddenly. “But trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied. I dunno why the team’s this popular all of a sudden.”

Hermione, though she could tell how nervous he was, rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Harry. It’s not Quidditch that’s popular — it’s you! You’ve never been more interesting, and frankly, you’ve never been more fanciable.” She glared briefly at Ron as he choked on a foolishly large bite of his kipper. “Everyone knows you’ve been telling the truth now, don’t they? The whole Wizarding World has had to admit you were right about Voldemort being back and now that they’re calling you ‘The Chosen One’ — well, come on, can’t you see why people are fascinated by you? And you’ve been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway —”

“You can still see where those brains got a hold of me in the Ministry, look,” Ron interrupted.

“And it doesn’t hurt,” Hermione pressed on, “that you’ve grown about a foot over the summer either.”

“I’m tall,” Ron said.

Before Hermione could remind Ron that it was Harry who needed cheering just now, the post arrived. Two square brown packages thudded to the table in front of Ron and Harry while a rolled up copy of the Daily Prophet arrived for Hermione.

As she unrolled her paper, she saw Ron peel back the brown paper to reveal, _Advanced Potion-Making_.

“Oh good!” said Hermione. “Now you can give that graffitied copy back.”

Harry laughed. “Are you mad? I’m keeping it! Look, I’ve thought it out.” He pulled the wretched and abused cheater’s guide to Potions out of his bag and tapped the cover of his book with a muttered spell. The cover fell off neatly, and Hermione strangled a gasp. Then he did the exact same thing to his new book. He swapped the covers, said a quick, “ _Reparo_!” and had two books sitting neatly in front of them, undamaged. One with a pristine cover, straight from Flourish and Blotts, but with insides scribbled on and marred with ink, and the other looking worn and battered, but with freshly printed insides.

“I’ll give Slughorn back the new one,” Harry said, tossing both books into his bag. “Now he’s got a brand new copy to lend to students, and I can keep this old thing.”

Hermione wished that she had power as a prefect to take the book away, but short of telling Slughorn — which she would never do — she could not stop Harry. With as much distaste on her face as she could muster, she disappeared behind the _Daily Prophet_.

“Anyone we know dead?” Ron asked, as if he were asking her to pass the pitcher.

Hermione hastily scanned the front page. Only one name jumped out at her. “No — but there have been more dementor attacks. And an arrest.”

“Excellent,” said Harry. “Who?”

“Stan Shunpike.”

“What?”

Hermione read the article to them. “‘Stanley Shunpike, conductor on the popular Wizarding conveyance the Knight Bus, has been arrested on suspicion of Death Eater activity. Mr Shunpike, 21, was taken into custody late last night after a raid on his Clapham home.”

“Stan Shunpike, a Death Eater?” Harry’s voice was still full of disbelief. “No way!”

“He might have been put under the Imperius Curse,” Ron suggested. “You can never tell.” 

“It doesn’t look like it,” Hermione said, though she wished she could deliver Harry better news. “It says here he was arrested after he was overheard talking about the Death Eaters’ secret plans in a pub. If he was under the Imperius Curse, he’d hardly stand around gossiping about their plans, would he?”

“It sounds like he was trying to make out he knew more than he did,” said Ron.

“I dunno what they’re playing at,” Harry said, his disbelief taking on a darker tone, “taking Stan seriously.”

Hermione chewed on her lower lip. “They probably want to look as though they’re doing something. People are terrified. You know the Patils’ parents want them to go home? And Eloise Midgen has already been withdrawn. Her father picked her up last night.”

“What!” Ron gaped at her. “But Hogwarts is safer than their homes, bound to be! We’ve got Aurors, and all those extra protective spells — and we’ve got Dumbledore.”

Hermione, though she largely agreed with Ron, glanced at the staff table and Dumbledore’s empty chair. “I don’t think we’ve got him all the time. Haven’t you noticed? His seat’s been empty as often as Hagrid’s this past week. I think he’s left the school to do something with the Order. I mean… it’s all looking serious, isn’t it?”

Harry and Ron looked down at their plates, and Hermione wished she’d chosen different words. Of course to them it had been serious for much longer, hadn’t it? Their parents were in the Order. She may have spent a summer at Grimmauld Place and a summer with Ron, but she didn’t spend her year worrying that Death Eaters would attack her parents in the middle of the night or while they were out shopping. Caught in a Muggle attack, perhaps, but not targeted. It would be nothing like what happened to Mr Weasley last Christmas or to Mr and Mrs Potter last summer. Or to Hannah Abbot, who had just been pulled out of Herbology because her mother had been found dead.

Their meal was quiet after that. Hermione decided to abandon her homework and support Ron and Harry at Quidditch tryouts that morning. She felt it was important to stay with them, even if she would end up sitting in the stands alone.

On their walk through the light rain, they passed Lavender Brown, who paused her conversation with Parvati to give Ron a wide smile and a wave. The dour mood of breakfast hardened into sharp relief and Hermione glared at the stadium ahead of them in lieu of glaring at Ron’s foolhardy strut or Lavender’s overly giddy smile. When they reached the Quidditch Pitch, she left the boys for the stands without comment.

Hermione did not count the number of applicants on the pitch, but it seemed to her that at least half of Gryffindor had turned up, and even a handful of non-Gryffindors. At least this year the Slytherins hadn’t turned up to heckle the players.

Harry quickly whittled through the hopefuls by giving them a basic flying test. First years, a few Hufflepuffs, a pair of Ravenclaws, a group of giggling girls comprised of all three houses, and a handful of incompetent fliers were sent from the pitch without getting their feet up off the ground.

The stands, which had been occupied by just Hermione, the Patil twins, Lavender, Sophie and Sally, and a few seventh years who might have been friends with Katie Bell, quickly filled with the removed competition. The giggling of girls each time Harry blew his whistle never ceased.

Those who had been deemed flight-capable stood on the edge of the pitch, just below Hermione’s bench. She could hear each of their hopeful comments and a few gushing comments about Harry’s brilliantly green eyes. She had her own opinions about who was right for Harry, but she at least trusted that Harry had the sense to know who was wrong for him.

She also overheard Cormac McLaggan make several comments about Ginny as she flew in the first group of Chasers that made Hermione’s ears red. They were mostly connected to how she rode her broom, and other things she might ride. He wasn’t terribly kind about Ron, either, nor the Weasley’s reputation for sympathizing with Muggles and struggling with money. Hermione thought that if Harry was sitting beside her, he would have hexed the mouth off of McLaggan.

It took Harry nearly two hours, but he managed to work his way through the group of players with relative efficiency. He took them in groups: first the Chasers, from which he selected Katie Bell, Demelza Robins, and Ginny Weasley; next the Beaters, which he narrowed down to Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote; and finally, the Keepers.

Hermione wished Harry had done the Keepers first, but instead the stands had filled with not only the dismissed applicants but also plenty of other students who had found that they had nothing better to do after a late Saturday breakfast than heckle the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

To make matters worse, while each of the other applicants saved perhaps two goals out of the five chances they were given, Cormac McLaggen was on track for a perfect record. Ginny, Demelza, and Katie lobbed Quaffles at the hoops and McLaggen blocked the first, the second, the third —

When he saved the fourth, Hermione decided to lend Ron and Harry a hand. For the sake of her friends and for the sake of the Gryffindor Quidditch team she was not about to let someone like McLaggen through the tryouts. The trouble was that she wasn’t great at silent spellcasting, not yet. Perhaps it wouldn’t even work. But she was at least going to try. She put her hand on her wand, aimed as subtly as possible, and concentrated.

McLaggen shot off in the opposite direction of the Quaffle.

Hermione let out a sigh of relief and tried not to look like she was cheering too hard as she clapped along with the crowd who laughed and booed in equal measure. She leaned forward as Ron took his turn. He looked so pale and unsteady on his feet, she was about to call out some encouragement to him, all coldness forgiven, when Lavender Brown, in an overly-cheerful voice and a dramatic wave shouted, “Good luck!”

Hermione buried her face in her hands.

She lifted her head just in time to catch Ron saving the first goal. She was on the edge of her seat for each one, praying, hoping, desperately for Ron to save all five. She knew Ron would be utterly miserable all year if he did not make Keeper, but more than that she wanted Ron to succeed. She may not have understood Quidditch or appreciated it the way Harry and Ron did, but she knew it was important to them, and she wanted them to be able to enjoy it, especially since last year had gone so dismally.

When Ron saved the fifth goal, Hermione was so relieved she rushed onto the Quidditch pitch.

“You did brilliantly, Ron!” she shouted.

She reached a very proud Ron, just as Harry, after a brief confrontation with McLaggen, was confirming with all of the team that their first practice would be the following Thursday. Then, as Harry had promised, the three of them headed down to Hagrid’s.

While they walked, Ron had a bounce in his step, and seemed, somehow, taller than usual. 

“I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty,” Ron said. “Tricky shot from Demelza, did you see, had a bit of a spin on it.”

Hermione could not help but grin with him. “Yes, yes, you were magnificent.”

“I was better than that McLaggen anyway. Did you see him lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looked like he’d been Confunded.”

Hermione tried to maintain her smile, but her cheeks grew very warm. She let Ron carry on about each of his saves, just as he had after his successful Quidditch match at the end of last year. She’d known what she was getting into when she’d helped him get on the team.

Ron was still describing his fifth save when Hagrid’s boarhound, Fang, let out a loud bark that carried across the grounds and bounded over to them. His enormous paws nearly knocked Ron to the ground, and Hermione had to use her scarf to wipe his slobber from her cheeks.

“Oi!” shouted Hagrid, coming around from the back of the hut. He wore a flower-print apron over his rugged groundskeeper robes and his thick, dark beard was full of stray leaves. “Yeh mangy mutt — oh. It’s you lot.”

Hagrid took in the sight of the three students approaching his garden, then strode into his cottage without a word. He let the echo of his door slamming shut speak for him.

“Oh dear,” Hermione said. She knew Hagrid was upset with them, but she had hoped he’d at least hear them out.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Harry. “If I can talk Sirius round from one of his tantrums, I’m sure I can manage Hagrid.”

He strode up to the door and knocked as hard as he could. “Hagrid! Open up. We want to talk to you!”

Hagrid did not answer, not even as Fang barked.

“If you don’t open the door, we’ll blast it open!”

“Harry!” Hermione said, shocked to see him actually pull out his wand. “You can’t possibly —”

“Yeah, I can! Stand back!”

But before Harry could throw a spell of any kind at Hagrid’s door, Hagrid yanked the thick wooden door open. He towered at least five feet over them and glared down at them from beneath thick, bushy eyebrows

“I’m a teacher!” he shouted, though they were right in front of me. “A teacher, Potter! How dare yeh threaten ter break down my door!”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Harry, throwing an unusual emphasis into the “sir.” Despite his cheek, he did put his wand away, to Hermione’s relief.

Hagrid was as still as if Harry had cast a Stunning Spell. “Since when have yeh called me ‘sir’?”

“Since when have you called me ‘Potter’?”

The growl in Hagrid’s chest was deep, low rumble, like distant thunder. “Very clever. Very amusin’. That’s me outsmarted, innit? Alrigh’ come in then, yeh ungrateful little…”

Whatever he was going to call them was lost as he turned away from the door to give them space to enter. Hermione’s lip trembled as she hurried in after Harry. She’d known Hagrid would be upset with them for not taking Care of Magical Creatures, but she had not expected this kind of cold treatment.

“Well?” Hagrid said as they sat down in the oversized chairs that had been squeezed into the one-room cottage. “What’s this? Feelin’ sorry for me? Reckon I’m lonely or summat?”

“No,” Harry said. “We wanted to see you.”

“We’ve missed you!” said Hermione, and she could hear her voice crack as she did.

“Missed me, have yeh? Yeah. Righ’.” Hagrid continued muttering to himself, but despite his irritation with them, he was the same host he always was. He grumbled as he took the kettle off of the fireplace and poured dark, bucketfuls of tea into enormous mugs. Hermione knew from experience that it was exceptionally bitter, but she sipped it to be polite, especially because she knew she would risk breaking a tooth if she tried one of his cakes.

“Hagrid,” she said, “we really wanted to carry on with Care of Magical Creatures, you know.”

He snorted, loud enough that Fang lifted his head from Harry’s lap to see what was the matter.

“None of us could fit it into our schedules!” she insisted. Which was, at least for her, very true. And Harry and Ron were terrible enough with time management, especially with Quidditch in their schedule.

“Yeah. Righ’,” Hagrid grunted

Hermione wanted to protest again, but a strange squishing sound in the corner distracted her. When she saw the giant barrel of slimy, wriggling, enormous pale maggots she could not help but scream. Even Ron jumped from his chair and moved to the other side of the table.

Harry was the only one who did not seem bothered. “What are they, Hagrid?”

“Jus’ giant grubs.”

Ron raised an eyebrow. “And they grow into…?”

“They won’ grow inter nuthin’,” Hagrid grunted. “I got ‘em ter feed ter Aragog.” And then he burst into tears.

“Oh! Hagrid!” Hermione hurried to his side and put an arm around him. She hardly could reach around his shoulders, but she patted his back. “What is it?”

“It’s… him…” Hagrid said between large, gulping sobs. “It’s Aragog…. I think he’s dyin’. He got ill over the summer an’ he’s not gettin’ better…. I don’ know what I’ll do if he… if he…. We’ve bin tergether so long….”

Hermione had never met Aragog, but she’d heard about him and his children from Ron and Harry, who had braved the Forbidden Forest while she was Petrified in the hospital wing. Aragog may not have tried to kill Ron and Harry, but he hadn’t done anything to stop his vast numbers of enormous spider children from trying to kill them.

“Is there — is there anything we can do?”

Ron, terribly pale, shook his head, desperately trying to avoid a commitment to helping Hagrid. They’d smuggled a baby dragon for him, raised Blast-Ended Skrewts, and tried to reason with his giant brother — not just giant in size, but a literal giant. Hermione did not blame Ron for not wanting to help with this, but Hagrid was their friend, and it seemed the polite thing to say.

Thankfully, Hagrid did not ask for their help.

“I don’ think there is, Hermione.” He wiped his cheeks with his floral print apron and blew his nose into it. “See, the rest o’ the tribe… Aragog’s family… they’re gettin’ a bit funny now he’s ill… bit restive…”

“Yeah, I think we saw a bit of that side of them,” Ron grumbled.

“... I don’ reckon it’d be safe fer anyone but me ter go near the colony at the mo’. But thanks fer offerin’ Hermione…. It means a lot….”

Hagrid blew his nose again, and they chatted about their lessons. Hermione was glad to know that there were some students at N.E.W.T. level, and Ron was eager to recount his success at Quidditch tryouts. Harry was quieter than usual, even when Defense with Snape came up. He did not mention to Hagrid that he’d earned himself a detention on his first day of lessons.

When they left Hagrid’s that evening, Harry moaned that he was starving. “And I haven’t got much time for dinner, before detention with Snape tonight….”

They walked as quickly as they could, hoping Harry could stuff something into his face before heading down to the dungeons. As they walked through the enormous castle doors, Hermione caught sight of Cormac McLaggen attempting to walk into the Great Hall. He ran into the wall on his first attempt, stepped away, puzzled, and reoriented himself to walk in. Hermione’s face grew warm and she looked at Ron, but Ron only laughed and headed into the hall himself.

Hermione, relieved, went to follow, but Harry caught her arm.

“What?” she snapped, perhaps more sharply than she’d meant to.

“If you ask me, McLaggen looks like he was Confunded this morning. And he was standing right in front of where you were sitting.”

Hermione considered lying to Harry, but though Harry was a terrible liar, he was rather gifted at knowing when he was being lied to.

“Oh, alright then, I did it,” she hissed. “But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, he’s got a nasty temper — you wouldn’t have wanted someone like that on the team.”

“No, no I suppose that’s true. But wasn’t that dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you’re a prefect, aren’t you?” But his tone wasn’t accusing. His grin said he was teasing.

“Oh, be quiet,” she snapped.

Ron reappeared in the doorway, none too happy with being ditched. “What are you two doing?”

“Nothing,” they said at once, and hurried after him.

They were nearly at the Gryffindor table when Professor Slughorn appeared so suddenly that it was as if he had Apparated, though Hermione knew he couldn’t have done.

“Harry, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see!” he said. “I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We’re having a little party, just a few rising stars. I’ve got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin — I don’t know whether you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries — and of course, I hope very much that Miss Granger will favour me by coming too.” Slughorn even gave her a polite little bow, though he ignored Ron entirely.

“I can’t come, Professor,” said Harry. If he had meant to sound regretful, he had failed spectacularly. “I’ve got a detention with Professor Snape.”

Slughorn’s pleasant smile turned crestfallen. “Oh dear! Dear, dear, I was counting on you, Harry! Well, now, I’ll just have to have a word with Severus and explain the situation. I’m sure I’ll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention. Yes, I’ll see you both later!”

Harry shook his head as he, Ron, and Hermione finally took their seats in the hall. “He’s got no chance of persuading Snape. This detention’s already been postponed once. Snape did it for Dumbledore, but he won’t do it for anyone else.”

Hermione could not help but whine. “Oh, I wish you could come. I don’t want to go on my own!” She did not know Melinda, but she knew McLaggen, and she was not interested in spending an entire supper with him.

“I doubt you’ll be alone,” Ron grumbled. “Ginny will probably be invited.”

Hermione thought about saying something comforting, but the _Evening Prophet_ arrived. She quickly buried herself in its contents while she ate.

“Anything new?” asked Harry.

“Not really…. Oh!” she flattened the paper out on the table. “You’re dad’s in here, Ron — he’s alright — It just says he’s been to visit the Malfoys’ house. ‘This second search of the Death Eater’s residence does not seem to have yielded any results. Arthur Weasley of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects said that his team had been acting upon a tip-off from the Auror Department.’”

“So she did say something!” said Harry. “I told Tonks about Malfoy and that thing he was trying to get Borgin to fix. Well, if it’s not at their house, he must have brought whatever it is to Hogwarts with him.”

“But how could he have done, Harry?” Hermione folded up the newspaper. “We were all searched when we arrived, weren’t we?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Were you? I wasn’t.”

“Oh — of course you weren’t — I forgot you were late. Well, Flich ran over all of us with Secrecy Sensors when we got into the entrance hall. Any Dark object would have been found. So you see, Malfoy can’t have brought in anything dangerous.”

“Someone’s sent it to him by owl, then” Harry suggested. “His mother or someone.”

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Harry’s persistence. “All of the owls are being checked, too. Filch told us so when he was jabbing those Secrecy Sensors everywhere he could reach.”

Harry looked to Ron for help, but Ron still looked sullen, and when Hermione followed Ron’s gaze, it ended on Lavender Brown. She buried herself back into the _Evening Prophet_.

“Can you think of any way Malfoy —?

“Oh, drop it, Harry,” Ron snapped.

“Listen — it’s not my fault Slughorn invited Hermione and me to his stupid party. Neither of us want to go, you know.”

“Well, as I’m not invited to any parties, I think I’ll go to bed.” Though it was ridiculously early for such a dramatic pronouncement, Ron abandoned the dinner table and left the Great Hall.

Hermione considered, briefly, going after him, but if he wanted to be hurt by something she and Harry had no control over, that was a choice he could make for himself. She and Harry ate in silence, her poring over the paper and Harry, she assumed, still trying to puzzle out how Draco Malfoy was planning to do the Dark Lord’s bidding here at Hogwarts.

When they finally got up to leave, they ran into Atalanta Shafiq, a third-year Slytherin and former member of Dumbledore’s Army.

“Harry?” she said, a little shyly.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got a message for you.”

“From Professor Slughorn?”

Though Harry had said he didn’t want to go to the party, Hermione noticed the hopeful note in his voice.

“No — from Professor Snape. He says you’re to come to his office at half-past eight tonight to do your detention — er — no matter how many party invitations you’ve received. And he wanted you to know you’ll be sorting out rotten flobberworms from good ones, to use in Potions and — and he says there’s no need to bring protective gloves.”

“Right. Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always welcome!


	12. Silver and Opals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonks has never felt so alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may project a good deal onto Tonks, perhaps more than I project onto James and Cedric. I mean, every character gets a piece of me, but there's something about Tonks that is very special to me.
> 
> Anyway, that's why this chapter clocks in at 32 pages. Get yourself a cup of tea or cocoa and settle in.

As soon as the door to the cell closed behind her, Tonks slumped against the cold stone wall. She breathed out a silent prayer of gratitude that at least she did not have to deal with dementors on this trip to Azkaban. As horrifying as it was that the dementors had left and were loose around England, she was not sure she could have survived this visit otherwise.

“Alright?” Proudfoot asked with a raised eyebrow.

Tonks gave him a wan smile. “Alright. Except that the guy doesn’t know anything. Don’t know why Scrimgeour’s insisting we keep him.”

Tonks pushed herself off against the wall and followed Proudfoot down the stairs of Azkaban’s western tower. Her interrogation with Stan Shunpike had gone exactly as she’d expected. Stan had pleaded innocence, said he didn’t know anything, he’d been exaggerating, he’d been trying to impress people.

“I suppose even people who pretend to have associations with Death Eaters ought to be taken seriously. Prevents people from….” Proudfoot rubbed the side of his head and winced. Tonks didn’t think he noticed it anymore, but it had become a tick of his whenever he thought too hard about something, a remnant of his duel with Pyrites last spring. “Sorry. I guess I just mean we’ve got to take any threat seriously.”

“I don’t blame Scrimgeour and Robards for having him brought in,” Tonks said, and tightened the scarf around her neck as they reached the large doors leading out of Azkaban, “but I think he’s learned his lesson, don’t you? He’s not going to give us anything useful.”

The doors out of Azkaban stood nearly as tall as the castle wall itself. They were each a meter thick, crafted out of ironwood and reinforced with bands of steel that were then reinforced with enchantments that left the metal glowing an eerie silver. On either side of the doors were two security trolls who towered twelve-feet high, nearly as high as the door, and beneath them stood two burly wizards, arms folded over their chest. As Tonks and Proudfoot approached, one whipped out a Secrecy Sensor and the other a Probity Probe. Without further prompting, Tonks and Proudfoot raised their arms over their heads and waited until they were cleared. They’d done this a hundred times. It was standard practice before going into the office these days — so Tonks went in as little as possible.

When the guards seemed satisfied that Tonks and Proudfoot were exactly who they said they were, they ordered the trolls to open the doors.

Each troll grabbed the enormous handles attached to a wheel and chain and pulled. With a loud clanking and a low-pitched creaking, the doors to Azkaban opened, just enough for Tonks and Proudfoot to squeeze out, and then they slammed closed behind them.

The North Sea crashed around them, drenching Tonks’s hair and clothes. She pulled her cloak tighter and shivered, and reminded herself to be grateful that it was not her job to stand out here as a guard.

The two wizards who did have the unfortunate duty of protecting the gates outside of Azkaban handed them their wands, for no wands were allowed inside Azkaban. Finally, she and Proudfoot were able to Apparate back to the Ministry. It was not quiet, at least not as quiet as the late night hours usually were. A pair of witches waited at the golden gates for Security to let them in. Another wizard stood by someone in bright green healer’s robes, having a whispered discussion. Several Hit Wizards lined the Floo Network entrances, prepared to detain and interrogate anyone who appeared suspicious. They were not far from the new, gaping hole in the Atrium, while the Ministry figured out how they would replace the Fountain of Magical Brethren that had been destroyed in Voldemort and Dumbledore’s duel.

Exhaustion kept the two of them quiet as they headed through security and up to the Auror offices. Anne Scrimgeour was there, ready with their assignments for tomorrow. Just seeing the scroll in Anne’s hand made Tonks’ exhaustion level increase twofold. She hadn’t even finished her day, and already tomorrow’s task was looming in front of her.

She slumped into her chair and carefully flattened the scroll out over her desk. Part of her hoped it might be hunting down Fenrir Greyback, though she knew that Marcy had been put on that trail weeks ago. Instead, she discovered she was scheduled to be at Hogwarts for the weekend. 

The Ministry had, of course, insisted on extra security for Hogwarts. They wanted round-the-clock Auror patrols of the corridors and grounds in addition to all the extra protections Dumbledore and the Ministry had already placed on the school. Dumbledore had, in turn, submitted a list of Aurors he deemed appropriate to patrol Hogwarts — meaning, Aurors who were also in the Order.

Shacklebolt was still working with the Muggle Prime Minister, and the Longbottoms were in charge of the recently added Dark Wizard Detection and Detainment Task Force, so it was mostly her, the Prewetts, and Moody. Moody was still technically retired, but he at least helped guard Hogwarts when he was needed. Tonks did not think there was any favour Dumbledore could ask of Moody that Moody would not give, and that was a hard level of respect to earn from Moody.

Padfoot leaned on her desk and craned his neck to get a look at her assignment. “Hogwarts? I got Knockturn Alley rounds this weekend with Savage. How did you even get on the Hogwarts list? You’re still the youngest of the Aurors — Diggory doesn’t count, and don’t tell me he does. He’s got three years of training to get through, just like we all did.”

Tonks tucked the new orders into her coat pocket. “You were still out for your injury when Dumbledore made his list. I’m sure that’s all it is. Did you write your report yet or are you just harassing me to procrastinate?”

When their reports were finally done, and they’d approved each other’s account of their interrogation of Stan Shunpike, they finally left the Ministry of Magic. Proudfoot, while not his usual cheery self, was his usual chatty self. He talked about his sister’s plans for a holiday in Florida in an effort to escape what was likely to be a harsh winter, the strange smell that had started to creep into his flat that he hadn’t had time to investigate fully, and a half-dozen other things on their wait in the lift and their walk out of the Ministry.

The night sky over London was dark, not a single star visible. Tonks was only able to find the moon, a vague, silvery light behind the cloud cover, because it was nearly full. Tomorrow night it would reach the peak of its cycle, and someone she loved very deeply would endure a lot of pain.

“I know a great twenty-four hour place,” Proudfoot said, pulling Tonks out of her staring contest with the hidden moon.

“What?”

“I thought you just said you were hungry.”

Perhaps she had murmured an agreement accidentally. And, as she thought about it, she actually was hungry.

Tonks checked her pocketwatch and groaned. “I can’t. I’ve got to be at Hogwarts first thing in the morning.”

“Hogwarts patrol is easy enough. Dumbledore’s got all the security in place, hasn’t he? You’ll wander around, get yourself an excellent meal, and be done with the day.”

Tonks did not think a Hogwarts patrol would be as simple as all that, but she agreed with him that it would be easier than today had been.

“Fine, but I need to let my mum know I’m alright. Hopefully she’ll believe me.” With a muttered incantation, Tonks summoned her Patronus and sent it off to deliver her hasty apology and promises she was alright.

It wasn’t until she saw Proudfoot staring at her, dumbfounded and scratching the side of his head, that she realized he was only familiar with her quick rabbit, not the lumbering silver wolf. An apology leapt to the tip of her tongue, but she held it back, unsure what she was to apologize for. Not telling him she’d fallen in love?

Proudfoot was the one to apologize. “Sorry. I thought — I dunno what I thought.” He continued running his hand through his thick brown curls and let out a long, slow breath. “A wolf, huh?” His patronus was a Kneazle, a far cry from the one she’d just revealed.

“Yeah — a wolf.”

“Used to be…?”

“A rabbit.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” He frowned, eyes still on the space where her wolf had vanished. “It’s the old legend, isn’t it? Patronus changing to match someone you love?”

“I didn’t ask the wolf, but — well, I ‘spect so.”

“And I haven’t heard about them because…?”

“Because it’s complicated.”

“Well, my food offer still stands. Tell me all about him. Or her.”

Tonks, who knew how hard it could be to extend friendship to someone you wished would love you, appreciated his offer more than she could put into words.

Proudfoot led Tonks towards a caff around the bend of the Thames. It was a few miles to walk, but the cold, fresh air felt good after so many hours in Azkaban. It also made it easier to talk.

“Start with their name,” Proudfoot prodded.

Tonks thought that was the last place she wanted to start. It would be easier if Proudfoot didn’t know who she was talking about and didn’t make a number of assumptions based on Lupin’s previous run-ins with the Ministry.

“He’s a friend of my cousin. So I knew him growing up. Always thought he was sweet, y’know? And funny. I mean, I really looked up to my cousin — Mum always thought he was a bad influence, but you know my Mum.”

“In concept,” Proudfoot laughed. “Just promise me the cousin you’re talking about is Sirius Black and not Regulus Black? Or Draco Malfoy?”

Tonks had never been more grateful for Proudfoot’s sense of humor. It was why the two of them got on so well. “Of course I’m talking about Sirius.”

“And the friend isn’t James Potter, is it? Because I think I can point out some quick problems with that relationship.”

“I do not have a crush on James Potter! Stop — did you want to hear about him or not?”

“You didn’t give me his name, Tonks! I’m just making sure the reason you’re keeping him secret isn’t because he’s already married to a very powerful and terrifying witch who has it in for the Ministry.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. It was sudden, uncontrolled, and brief. She couldn’t remember if she’d laughed in the last month. She couldn’t remember if she’d laughed at all since Voldemort’s return was finally public. Since she’d had a real conversation with Remus. But it was funny to hear how the Ministry felt about Lily Potter.

“I’m not in love with Potter. Promise.”

“Alright, alright, carry on.”

Proudfoot led her through a garden along the bank of the Thames. On any other day, Tonks might have worried he was trying to make this walk romantic, but she found it so much easier to breathe, now that he knew she wasn’t interested in him. She wished she had tried to talk to him about it all sooner, but they’d danced around the line between friendly and flirty for so long, she hadn’t known how to bring it up. Perhaps an accidental discovery like this was the only way for them to move forward.

“So I always sort of liked him,” she said, “but it was just a silly crush, you know? I dated at school and everything, but, well, I dunno, after I finished at Hogwarts I saw him at a party and I just — it all hit me all over again. My heart got all jittery, and I didn’t want to leave, even when my mum and dad left. I just wanted to keep talking to him. But then there was Auror training, and I was so busy and exhausted all the time —”

“I remember Moody ran you hard.”

“Yes! It was miserable, but worth it… Anyway, this past year, we’ve spent a lot of time together and — I dunno, I thought he finally saw me as an adult, not as his friend’s kid cousin. I thought that maybe he liked me too.” Tonks felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes and she instead latched onto her anger at herself for being so upset. She shouldn’t be reacting this way. Unrequited love hurt, but it was nothing worth crying to a co-worker about.

“I’m sorry.” And Proudfoot sounded like he meant it. There was no relief in his voice that Tonks wasn’t actually taken. There was no hope that because her love was unrequited she might turn her feelings to him. He was just sympathetic.

“When I tried to talk to him about it, he said there was nothing to talk about. It hurt, but I knew I could be alright with it. Even if he did have feelings for me and just wanted to be stubborn and deny it, fine. If he wanted to date someone else, fine. If he was content with his own company, fine. I could make my peace with that. But he….” She sighed and ran a hand through her thin, mousy brown hair, wishing that she could turn it back to her favourite vibrant pink. “It’s just a lot more complicated.”

Proudfoot considered this. He kept his eyes on the road ahead, following the occasional Muggle automobile that passed them along the embankment. His hands were in his pockets, presumably one on his wand, and Tonks hastily shoved her wand hand into her pocket. She’d been using her hands to assist her talking, but she knew Moody would have criticized her for taking her hand off her wand for even a moment.

“What reasons has he given you for not wanting a relationship?” Proudfoot finally asked.

“He says I don’t deserve him because he’s old and… and sick. He thinks I ought to fall in love with some young attractive Auror instead of him — his words, not mine.”

Proudfoot’s face flushed and a grin spread across it. “So he knows me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. But yes, he’s seen you before. He knows we’ve worked together. And it just makes me angry that he thinks he can tell me who I should fall in love with!”

Proudfoot nodded. “Yeah, I see that. Has he admitted that he shares your feelings? It almost sounds like he’s making excuses to avoid hurting your feelings — and failing spectacularly, I might add.”

“I thought that for a bit, but then I talked it over with Sirius, who knows him best. Sirius said he does have feelings for me, that Sirius is sure of it. Sirius seems to think the problem is that Remus doesn’t want to deal with his own feelings and insecurities, so he’s running from them.”

“Oh. This is about Remus Lupin. I see.”

The tone of Proudfoot’s voice turned from as comforting as her mother’s homegrown herbal teas to as cold and icy as a dementor’s chill. Tonks felt her hurt and anger stunned into temporary submission as her brain tried to work out which part of Remus Lupin it was that made Proudfoot so angry. Was it that he finally had a name and a face for Tonks’ love? Was it the werewolf thing?

Tonks did as she did best: tried to brush it off with a joke. “What? Would you be less upset if I’d said it was Emmeline Vance?”

Proudfoot did not see the humor. “I just think what he is matters. You can’t have a serious relationship with someone like that.”

So it was the werewolf. “Glad to have your opinion on it,” she said coolly.

“I just mean that you ought to think about it practically. He certainly is. You can’t live with someone with that kind of condition — it’s dangerous! You know he never registered himself? And imagine what might happen to your children —”

“Merlin’s merchant, Proudfoot, where do you get off talking about me having kids?”

“I’m just looking at it in the long-term. That’s all.”

“And I was so glad to have a friend to talk to about it.” Tonks rolled her eyes, embarrassed by the gratitude she’d felt just moments ago. “You’re unbelievable. Sirius is in love with the man and he’s a better comfort about all of this than you are.”

Without checking for Muggles and without waiting for another poor, insensitive explanation from Proudfoot, Tonks Disapparated, leaving the man she had — until just a moment ago — considered her best friend standing alone on the roadside in London. She Apparated into her mother’s garden, with no care for the mint plant she trod over, and stomped into the house.

Despite the late hour, Andromeda Tonks was still up with a book in her lap, and looked relieved to see Tonks. Her relief turned into concern when she actually took in Tonks’ expression.

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing. It’s fine, Mum,” she grunted, and stomped up the stairs to her bedroom, slamming the door closed.

“Nymphadora!” her mother shrieked, with the same strength and indignation she’d used throughout Tonks’ teenage years.

As another set of footsteps stomped up the stairs behind Tonks, the house seemed to groan with weariness. It had endured hundreds of similar arguments as Tonks had passed through puberty and into adulthood; it was likely to endure a hundred more. 

Tonks was barely out of her coat when her mother threw the door open.

“Nymphadora!”

“What, Mum?” She was so tired of every adult treating her like a child, and she wished she knew how to stop herself from responding as if she still were a child.

“You know better than to come barging into this house at ungodly hours making that kind of noise —”

“Because you haven’t just woken half of the neighborhood yourself —”

“Don’t interrupt me! I’ve been up half the night, worried sick about you, and you brush me off like I’m little more than a house-elf —”

“I’m sorry, Mum. I’m tired. It was a long day.” Tonks hung her coat in her wardrobe, simply because her mother was still standing in her doorway and she knew she’d get another scolding if she left it on the floor.

There was a heavier set of footsteps in the hallway, joined by a loud yawn, and her father came stumbling down the hall, dressed in his nightclothes. He joined her mother in the doorway. “Dromeda, Dora, must we do this now?”

“She’s the unreasonable one!” Tonks said, raising her voice more than she meant to, an old habit of an oft-repeated phrase growing up. “Shouting like it’s the end of the world at Merlin knows what hour of the night!”

“I’m the unreasonable one? I’m just asking for the bare minimum — the absolute least you can do is say hello when you come home. Some basic decency is all I ask for in this house.”

“I’ve said I’m sorry, Mum. What else do you want? I’ll remember to send my Patronus earlier next time.”

“You have no idea what it’s like, waiting up with worry while you’re only child is off fighting who-knows-what and who-knows-who and —”

“Yeah, and I ‘spect I never will. I was at Azkaban half the day, and I’ve got to be at Hogwarts in the morning, and I’d like to get just an hour of good sleep in, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Ah,” Ted Tonks said, and stifled another yawn. “There it is. Did you have another run-in with Lupin?”

“No! Dad — just go back to bed.” Her cheeks flushed, and had she been thirteen instead of twenty three, her hair would have burned bright red with embarrassment.

“Are you really still interested in him, Nymphadora?” asked Andromeda. “It’s been nearly six months since you’ve even spoken to him.”

Tonks rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mum, I’m aware. You say it like I can help it.”

“Oh, please. You are not the protagonist of some Russian novel who can stand around waiting for him to reform bad habits and realize he’s been in love with you all this time. You cannot mope about —”

“I’m not moping!”

“Then change your hair. Fix your nose. As much as I love seeing my face on my daughter for once, I miss seeing your father’s. You’ve let this man take a wonderful gift from you, and it’s growing ridiculous.”

“Dromeda,” Ted said, and put his arm around his wife, “don’t pretend you were any less romantic about love when you were her age. I recall several impassioned speeches about what you thought of your family’s philosophy, and how you didn’t care what it cost you, you would have me no matter what.”

Andromeda’s face grew red. “That was different! We had each other — and we had a plan —”

“It’s not the same, but it’s not that different,” Ted said. “Come on, let’s get to bed before any of us say something we’ll regret in the morning. Will you be home tomorrow night, Dora?”

Tonks, still furious with her mother shook her head. “No. I’m at Hogwarts this weekend. I expect I’ll be home on Monday.”

Andromeda’s face was shrewd. “Why not come home tomorrow night? London’s no closer to Hogwarts than we are.”

“Let it go, Dromeda,” Ted said. “She’s an adult, and if she wants to keep throwing herself at this, that’s her choice.”

Andromeda did not look like she was going to let it go. “This conversation isn’t over, Nymphadora.”

Tonks rolled her eyes. “Brilliant. Can’t wait until we pick it up again.” She considered never coming home again, but the last thing she needed was her mother pounding on the Potters’ or Weasleys’ doors, demanding to know where she was and how to get to the Order’s headquarters in London. As her bedroom door closed, and she was finally alone, she reminded herself that her parents were simply looking out for her. Her mother cared, as difficult as that could be to see. Tonks tried, as she tried every night in the middle of this war, to count the things she was grateful for, and having two living parents who loved her was at the top of the list.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

At the bottom of Tonks’ list of things to be grateful for was the weather. Though she’d been glad to have the dementors out of Azkaban just yesterday, she was already wishing them back. Hogwarts was bitterly cold, and it wasn’t even November.

Tonks doubled her scarf around her face to shield herself from the biting cold atop the Astronomy Tower. She leaned over the edge of the parapets and watched the students file out, all successfully passing Filch’s Secrecy Sensor. She thought about how many times she’d tricked Filch during her time as a student, and wondered if his Secrecy Sensor was as reliable as he’d insisted.

Tonks watched until she saw a group of four wrapped in Gryffindor scarves — one with short, messy dark hair, another with long untidy red hair, someone with dusty blonde hair, and someone with long, thick, curly hair — set out from the castle to brave the icy cold wind that blew down the path to Hogsmeade. Tonks was, as her Auror assignment said, guarding Hogwarts in Dumbledore’s absence. But more than that, she was guarding Harry.

And she’d expected him to head out into Hogsmeade, which is why she was up here on the Astronomy Tower, watching to make sure he’d gone, though she’d been hoping he wouldn’t bother to brave the weather. With a disappointed sigh and a curse on courageous Gryffindors, Tonks cast a simple Disillusionment Charm on herself and mounted her Comet Two Sixty. She wasn’t used to having to resort to spells for Disguise, but she’d gained a lot of practice these last few months.

Her gift hadn’t vanished right away. It had been slow, like exhaustion creeping in as the day grew longer. At first, she’d thought it simply was exhaustion. Changing her appearance became like stretching an over-extended muscle. It hurt, and she could do it, but not for long. Then the things she did without a second thought seemed to take all of her concentration. Her hair, her eyes, her nose, her jaw — the things about her that mirrored her mother that she had spent her whole life disguising, first out of spite and then out of habit — all relaxed into their natural shape. Until one morning, she found she was unable to shrink her nose or soften her cheekbones. She could not grow her nails into claws or turn her hair from brown to pink. 

She’d thought it was the war that had worn her out, but when she had seen Remus after his transformation last July, she had known exactly why she was so tired, so exhausted. The war was something she had trained for, and she’d been trained well for it by Mad-Eye Moody. Falling in love with someone who repeatedly tormented himself — not just on the full moon but on each night of his life — had never been something she’d prepared for.

Tonks landed her broom just outside the Three Broomsticks and tucked it away in a shed behind Rosmerta’s pub. She’d retrieve it later.

For now, Tonks walked the streets of Hogsmeade. She was familiar with its layout, having visited enough times as a student. It wasn’t particularly crowded, with how terrible the weather was. Still, she found it strange to watch the clusters of students hurry from shop to shop. It wasn’t too long ago that she had been one of them, and yet it felt like a lifetime ago. The only students she could possibly know were the seventh years, who had only been bitty firsties when she’d been in her final year. She didn’t think she’d recognize any names.

The students she did know — Harry, Hermione, Neville, and the Weasleys — were nowhere to be seen. Tonks tried to think of where Harry might go. She knew he’d been to the Hog’s Head before, but from what she understood it had been a special occasion. She wondered if he was continuing Dumbledore’s Army now that Umbridge had been deposed, if he’d decided it was still necessary with Snape in charge of Defense.

Tonks wandered the path down to the Hog’s Head, but it didn’t seem like any students were particularly interested in braving the long walk to the edge of town, away from the warm, inviting shops. When Tonks did open the door to the Hog’s Head, she was greeted by the smell of animal dung and an unwelcoming grunt from the barkeep. The place itself was empty.

“Wotcher, Aberforth,” she said as she approached the counter.

Aberforth half-growled. “Don’t have time for your funny business, Nymphadora.”

Tonks wished she felt anything like funny business. With the loss of Proudfoot, Aberforth was the last person left in her life she could joke around with. “I’ve outgrown all that,” she said with a shrug. “Just checkin’ to make sure you aren’t serving Firewhiskey to firsties.”

“Not unless they’re as wrinkled as shrivelfigs. Or if you’ve got another student that can make their face look as weathered as mine.”

“Just me, far’s I know. Any interesting shrivelfigs come through?”

“In this weather?” Aberforth stroked his beard. “‘Dung came in here, tried to sell me something. I gave him a firm reminder he was banned. Are you going to buy something or did you just come to annoy me?”

A drink sounded tempting. “Sorry, but I’m working. Maybe tonight.”

“Butterbeer for the road, then?”

Tonks could not resist something warm in this terrible weather. As grumpy as he was, Aberforth was an excellent salesman. Or maybe he was just trying to unload his dusty collection of butterbeers on unsuspecting Aurors. Tonks’ lips curled back in disgust as he handed her the glass bottle coated in a quarter inch of muck, as if he’d unearthed it from the floor. 

“Cheers,” she said, and tucked the glass bottle into her coat. At least it was warm.

She left Aberforth, cheered by the interaction. She’d once made the mistake of impersonating Dumbledore in her third year in order to get herself a drink at the Hog’s Head. It had gone terribly, but how was she to know that the barkeep was the Headmaster’s estranged brother? Aberforth had promised not to tell the school what she’d done as long as she promised not to let everyone know who he was. It had been a fine arrangement, one Tonks had leaned on and abused to get the occasional free drink in her later years. 

As Tonks headed back to the shops in the center of Hogsmeade, she wished she’d spent time practicing warming charms instead of Disillusionment Charms. The wind was picking up, and she was pretty sure there was a storm coming. 

She caught sight of Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hermione exiting Zonko’s and hurrying across the street towards the Three Broomsticks. They didn’t seem to notice her, which she was grateful for, though disappointed they’d chosen the Three Broomsticks. She couldn’t very well go in and have Harry recognize her, but she did very much want to get warm.

She ducked into Gladrags. Though most of the window was plastered with Death Eater wanted posters, there was a space in the corner where she had a good view of the Three Broomsticks. Tonks settled into the corner and when the shop owner asked her to buy something or leave, she simply flashed her Auror badge. He ignored her after that.

Harry and his friends stayed in the Three Broomsticks just long enough to enjoy a nice, warm butterbeer before heading back into the cold. She waited until they’d passed by Gladrags before heading out into the cold herself. The butterbeer in her pocket wasn’t especially warm anymore, and she pulled her coat closer to stave off the bite of the windchill.

She squinted up at the castle, and wondered if she ought to take her broom back. The wind was picking up, and she didn’t have any desire for her Comet to get caught in a gale and have the both of them into the Whomping Willow. She also had no desire to walk into the wind. In the end, Tonks chose the lesser of two evils. She pulled her collar tight and trudged up the path towards the castle. She had barely crested the first hill and taken in the vision of the Black Lake, with white caps on its traditionally mirror-smooth waters, when a blood-curdling scream cut through the air.

Tonks bolted into a run. The glass bottle in her coat pocket swung like a pendulum as she hurried towards the sound, wand out, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of distress. The scream continued, even as she ran, and as she mounted the ridge where she had last seen Harry, she saw a young girl, hovering six feet in the air just at the end of the bridge that crossed the Black Lake, screaming with all her might as the wind whipped around her. Tonks had barely taken two more steps when the girl collapsed to the ground in a heap. Five students clustered around her. Tonks saw the one she thought was Harry run towards Hagrid’s hut. That was good; Tonks was still far enough away that Harry might reach Hagrid first.

Tonks searched for more strength to put into her sprint, but it felt like no matter how hard she tried, she could not run fast enough. Then, as her feet left the well-worn path and hit the hard, stone bridge, she tripped and sprawled onto the ground. She heard the glass in her coat pocket shatter, and the left side of her chest grew wet and warm. She did not even stop to consider the sensation; she only cursed her clumsiness and picked herself back up.

When she finally reached the end of the bridge, she skidded to the young girl’s side, this time intentionally slamming her knees into the bridge. Hagrid and Harry were just steps away.

“Get back,” Hagrid shouted at the students as Tonks ran her wand over the girl on the ground.

The girl was still screaming and writhing in pain. Tonks hated these kinds of curses, the ones you could neither see nor defend yourself against. She was not very good at treating them, either. Snape was better. And Hagrid was faster.

“Get her to Madam Pomfrey,” she said, though Hagrid had knelt down to scoop her up as soon as Tonks pulled her wand away. “And get Snape!” she added as he ran off with the still-screaming girl in his arms.

“Is anyone else hurt?” Tonks looked at the five students — Harry, Ron, Neville, Hermione, and a girl she’d never met.

They all shook their heads.

“Did someone attack her? What happened?”

The girl Tonks did not know pointed at some brown wrappings on the ground. “It — it was when that package tore,” she sobbed.

The wrappings were nearly soaked through, and as the wind whipped the loose edges around, Tonks saw something glittering underneath. 

Ron knelt down and reached for the package.

“Don’t —” A jinx shot from the end of Tonks’ wand and knocked Ron backwards. She hadn’t meant to use the Knockback Jinx, but she’d been so determined to keep Ron away from whatever was in that package, she’d reacted without thinking.

Harry knelt next and, before she could even open her mouth, said, “I’m not going to touch it!” Instead he reached for the wrapping, and pulled it back to reveal a stunning opal necklace, glittering with iridescent greens and blues and whites.

“I’ve seen that before,” Hermione gasped. “Or one just like it. It was on display in Borgin and Burkes this summer. The label said it was cursed. Katie must’ve touched it.”

“Where’d your friend get this necklace?” Tonks looked at the group of students. They all looked at the girl.

“That’s why we were arguing.” The girl started to shake, and Hermione put an arm around her. “She came back from the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks holding it, said it was a surprise for someone at Hogwarts and she had to deliver it. She looked all funny when she said it…. Oh! Oh no — she must have been Imperiused and I didn’t realize!”

“She didn’t say who’d given it to her, Leanne?” Hermione asked.

“No —” Leanne hiccuped on another sob. “She wouldn’t tell me. I said she — I said she was being stupid and not to take it up to the school, but she wouldn’t listen, and then I tried to grab it from her and —” Leanne let out another heaving sob and buried her face into her hands.

Tonks appreciated how calm Hermione, Ron, Neville, and Harry were as Hermione patted Leanne’s shoulder, and how carefully Harry and Neville examined the necklace. They had what it took to be Aurors, or maybe they’d just been through enough to make them that way.

Tonks took off her wet cloak and tossed it to Ron. The warm butterbeer had quickly grown cold, and Tonks thought she’d be better off with no cloak than a cold one. “Wrap it in this. Do not touch it — do you understand?”

Ron nodded solemnly and used her cloak to scoop up the necklace. “Why is it sticky?”

“Hippogriff piss,” Tonks said, and didn’t feel any urge to even smile at her own humor. “I need you to run on ahead and get that to Snape. It’ll help him treat Katie.”

Ron, though he looked pale, did not ask questions. He did as Tonks said and hurried on ahead. 

“Come on,” Tonks said to the rest of them. “Let’s get out of this wind and get somewhere warm.”

Hermione kept her arm around Leanne’s shoulder as they walked up to the castle. Harry fell into step beside Tonks.

“Do you think Katie will be alright?” Harry asked as they trudged into the wind.

“I don’t know,” Tonks answered honestly. “You lot were in the Three Broomsticks just now, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me everyone who was in the Three Broomsticks.”

Harry frowned. “I dunno — Ron, Neville, Hermione, and me. A Slytherin from our class. A couple of warlocks… Katie and Leanne…. I dunno who else. It was kind of full with the weather so bad.” 

“I thought Mad-Eye would’ve taught you better.”

“What do you mean?”

Had Tonks been her usual self, she would have scrunched up her face into her wizened mentor’s shape. As it was, she simply mimicked his voice. “ _Constant vigilance!_ ”

Harry looked appropriately reprimanded. “I didn’t think about it in Hogsmeade. It’s so close to Hogwarts, I thought it was — I don’t know, safe?”

“Doesn’t matter where you are. How many times have you been attacked in places you’ve felt safe?”

Harry didn’t answer, and Tonks didn’t need him to. She could tell from his face it was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.

“I think it was Draco Malfoy,” he said suddenly.

Tonks raised an eyebrow at him. “You sound certain.”

“He saw the necklace in Borgin and Burkes this summer,” Harry said. “Remember I told you we tailed him?”

“You didn’t tell me he purchased something. You told me he bullied Borgin into repairing something for him.”

“Right but — he could’ve purchased it. Or he could’ve gone back and purchased it.”

“Did you see Malfoy in the Three Broomsticks?”

“No, but there were a lot of people there.”

“And you think a lot of people would not have noticed a young man in a Hogwarts uniform slip into the girls’ bathroom?”

Harry considered this. “Leanne didn’t say Katie got it in the bathroom, just on her way back from the bathroom.”

“Alright, that’s a fair point, but I’ve got one more question.”

“Okay.”

“Katie — she looked like she’s a sixth or seventh year?”

“Seventh.”

“She a good duelist?”

“Yeah. She was in the D.A. She’s on the Quidditch team, too, ever since she was in second year. Good reflexes.”

“You think if Malfoy so much as approached her in the girls’ bathroom or anywhere in the Three Broomsticks with his wand out she wouldn’t Stun him or even shout?”

Harry didn’t answer, as they climbed the steps into Hogwarts. Filch growled at them and waved his Secrecy Sensor, but McGonagall came running down the stairs and waved him away.

“Let them in, Filch,” she said. “My office, all of you.”

Tonks could not help but feel like a student again as she trooped into McGonagall’s office. Ron was already there, with Tonks’ wet and sticky coat draped over the back of a chair. The necklace was nowhere to be seen.

“Well!” McGonagall said, and shut her office door firmly behind her. “Hagrid says you are the ones who saw what happened. Mr Weasley, I hope you’ve caught your breath enough to tell us what’s happened.”

“Leanne’s the one who saw it all,” Ron said. He still sounded short of breath, and Tonks was proud of him for putting in so much effort.

Leanne, between sobs and hiccups, was able to tell McGonagall what she had told Tonks: Katie had entered the bathroom at the Three Broomsticks and come out with a strange parcel and acting very odd, and they’d argue over delivering the strange package, until they’d torn the package in their argument. At this point, Leanne became inconsolable, and neither McGonagall’s stern demands nor Hermione’s gentle coaxing could convince her to finish her story.

“Go up to the hospital wing, then, Leanne,” said McGonagall in a kinder voice than Tonks had ever heard from her, “and have Madam Pomfrey give you something for shock.”

Leanne rubbed her eyes and obediently left the office.

“What happened when Katie touched the necklace?” McGonagall asked. She was looking to Tonks for answers, but Tonks did not have any. She looked at Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Neville.

It was Harry who hurried to answer. “She rose up in the air,” he said, “and then began to scream, and collapsed. Professor, can I see Professor Dumbledore please?”

McGonagall frowned, clearly uninterested in this change in topic. “The headmaster is away until Monday, Potter.”

“Away?”

“Yes, Potter, away. But I assure you, we are in quite capable hands regardless. Now, is there anything else you have to say about today’s incident? I believe I am most needed in the hospital wing.”

“That’s about it, Professor,” said Tonks. “I’ll see these four back to their common room.”

“Thank you,” McGonagall hurried out of the office without another word. Tonks could see Harry burning with frustration, but she ignored it, instead looking at the Quidditch Cup sitting on a shelf in McGonagall’s office. She felt bitter at seeing it here, especially after so many years of Charlie Weasley crushing her team in Quidditch.

“Who do you reckon Katie was supposed to give the necklace to?” Ron asked as he handed Tonks her cloak.

Tonks shook her head. “I doubt we’ll know unless Katie can tell us.”

“Whoever it was has had a narrow escape,” said Hermione. “No one could have opened that package without touching the necklace.”

Tonks led the four Gryffindors out of McGonagall’s office and towards the stairs to Gryffindor tower.

“It could’ve been meant for loads of people,” said Harry. “Dumbledore — the Death Eaters would love to get rid of him. Or Slughorn — Dumbledore reckons Voldemort really wanted him and they can’t be pleased that he’s sided with Dumbledore. Or —”

“Or you,” Neville whispered.

Tonks raised an eyebrow, prepared to comfort Harry, but Harry only shrugged.

“Couldn’t have been, or Katie would’ve just turned around in the lane and given it to me, wouldn’t she? I was behind her all the way out of the Three Broomsticks. It would have made much more sense to deliver the parcel outside Hogwarts, what with Filch searching everyone who goes in and out. I wonder why Malfoy told her to take it into the castle?”

Tonks sighed. “Harry, the Malfoys have been searched as thoroughly as anyone has ever been searched. And I find it far more likely that a woman cursed Katie with the Imperius Curse and had her deliver the parcel.”

“He could’ve asked Pansy Parkinson,” Harry said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Pansy couldn’t curse a toad to sing.”

“Whoever it was,” Ron said as they arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady, “wasn’t very slick, were they? The necklace didn’t even make it into the castle. Not what you’d call foolproof.”

“You’re right,” Hermione agreed. “It wasn’t very well thought out at all.”

Tonks examined each of the brave Gryffindors and considered her own Auror training. They all had the temperament for it, if nothing else. And they were asking all the right questions, the ones she’d been asking herself since she’d seen what had happened.

“What was it about the plan that went so wrong?” she asked them, curious to hear what they’d noticed.

“Even if Leanne hadn’t thought it strange, Filch would’ve caught the necklace with his Secrecy Sensor when they walked in,” said Neville.

“And no one’s really traveling alone these days,” said Hermione. “Someone like Leanne being suspicious was practically guaranteed.”

“Anyone could have opened the package,” said Ron. “Or like what happened — it opened accidentally and Katie got cursed.”

“The possibility for collateral damage was high, and the chance of success slim,” Tonks agreed. “So what does that tell us about the culprit?”

“Someone not very bright,” said Harry, “like Malfoy.”

Three pairs of eyes rolled in unison. Tonks sighed and shook her head.

“Not necessarily. What happened to Katie requires a certain level of skill. And brilliant people can make foolish mistakes. But it does tell us she’s definitely inexperienced. You four thought quickly today and reacted coolly in a stressful situation. That’s something to be proud of. Stay vigilant, alright?”

They each nodded and Hermione said, “Dilligrout.” The Fat Lady’s portrait swung open. Ron helped Hermione inside, then followed. Neville scrambled over the large step into the common room. Harry, though, hesitated.

Tonks thought he was going to give another argument for why Draco Malfoy had been the one to curse Katie, but instead he said, “How long are you staying at Hogwarts for?”

“As long as I can be useful. Mad-Eye should be here ‘round supper time. He might be a better help for Katie, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Are you… Are you going to see my parents at all tomorrow?”

Tonks wished she had control over her Metamorphmagus ability if only so she could hide the blush creeping up her neck. “I’m supposed to spend the night with your mother, actually. I hope she won’t worry too much if I’m late.”

“Oh — does that mean… does that mean he’s coming home tonight?”

“As far as I know, he’s planning to, yes.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, I hope so.”

“I’m glad someone can keep Mum company, too.”

“I’m happy to do it. Your Mum’s cool. You’re lucky, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Go on, before your friends worry that you’re having a tryst with a mature, older woman.”

Harry pantomimed searching high and low, and even peered around the Fat Lady’s portrait. “Huh. I don’t see one around.”

Tonks stuck her tongue out at him and playfully shoved him into the short tunnel into the Gryffindor common room.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

That night, when Mad-Eye relieved Tonks of her duty, she trudged back down the path to Hogsmeade. The wind had died down, but it was still bitterly cold, and she didn’t have a cloak. She had her butterbeer soaked cloak draped over one arm, and the only thing really protecting her from the cold was the knit scarf around her neck.

Though Tonks would have loved to stop in the Three Broomsticks for a proper warm butterbeer, to make up for the broken, dirty one, but she was expected at the Potters’ Hogsmeade cottage, and she didn’t dare delay any more than she already had filling Moody in on the events at Hogwarts.

Remus Lupin had not come home for the full moon at the end of August, but he had returned for September, of his own accord. Lily had said he was reluctant and sullen about it, but regardless, he’d finally come home. 

Unfortunately, all of that bitterness and irritation that Remus brought home with him carried over into the full moon. It wasn’t just that he’d surprised Lily by showing up on their fireplace hearth an hour before sunset, asking if it was alright to stay the night. It wasn’t just that Lily had needed to put together a half-dozen potions on little notice. Whatever it was that Remus carried with him into the full moon had nearly ripped both him and James to shreds, and Lily, with the help of the Potters’ house-elves, had barely managed to keep the two of them alive.

So this month, she’d asked Tonks to help.

When Tonks reached the cottage, she knocked, and was surprised when one of the Potter house-elves answered. Tonks hadn’t really been properly introduced to them, but she thought this one was called Picksie.

“Miss Tonks!” the house-elf squeaked. “A moment —” The small elf squeezed her large, purple eyes closed and snapped her fingers. There was a blue spark, and Tonks felt a shock run from her head to her toes. She jumped back, startled, and fumbled for her wand.

The elf, however, opened her eyes and smiled. “It is you! Come in, come in.” She stepped aside and motioned for Tonks to enter. “Picksie has been practicing, detecting Polyjuices and hidden curses! But you is you, so come in, come in!”

Tonks could not help but smile as she walked in. Picksie’s pride in her success was contagious. “Impressive. House-elves might make better guards than trolls if they practice as hard as you.”

Tonks was not certain whether house-elves could blush — the only one she’d had any real interaction with had been Kreacher — but she thought that Picksie was glowing with pride.

“Thank you, Miss Tonks! You is very kind. Mistress Potter is in the kitchen, finishing a potion.”

Tonks let Picksie show her the way. She’d never actually been to the Potters’ cottage. She knew James had purchased it to be closer to Lily during her brief stint as a Hogwarts professor, but she wasn’t sure why they’d held onto it all these years. It certainly came in handy on a night like tonight, when their house was occupied by a bloodthirsty werewolf, and the Order’s headquarters were little more than a way-station for overworked Aurors these days. The life that had returned to Grimmauld Place when the Order had needed a London base had all but vanished after the Ministry was no longer the primary battle ground. Even Regulus wasn’t around as much. Tonks had heard he was on a special mission for Dumbledore, separate from the Order’s task, but she couldn’t recall who had said it to her.

Tonks didn’t find this cottage much more homely than Grimmauld Place as she looked around. The fireplace was empty, and the furniture was covered. It was clear that the Potters didn’t spend much time here.

The kitchen Picksie led her to was smaller than Styncon Garden’s, which said a lot, considering that their kitchen there was not especially large, not compared with homes like Grimmauld Place or the Burrow. There was enough room for a woodstove and a hand-pump sink. It seemed that James hadn’t been looking for grandeur or comfort when he’d bought the house. He’d only been looking for somewhere close to Lily.

Lily stood over the wood fire, waving her wand over a cauldron. Picksie waited in the doorway until Lily had finished her spell and used her wand to siphon the potion into a bottle before announcing Tonks.

“Mistress Potter — Miss Tonks is arrived. Picksie is doing the checking of her myself. Miss Tonks is who Miss Tonks says.”

Lily smiled. “Thank you, Picksie. I don’t know what I’d do without your help. Tonks can help me with the last of the Blood-Replenishing Potions. Why don’t you check on Mellie and get some rest?”

Picksie bowed and disappeared with a pop.

“Is Mellie alright?” Tonks asked.

“She’s old, and more and more tired these days…. But we all are, so maybe it’s nothing.” Lily corked the bottle of thick red liquid and set it into a box. “One more should do the trick. I wish I could brew these in advance, but they only last about forty-two hours, and I never know how much I’ll need.”

“Depends on his mood, doesn’t it? How was he tonight?”

“Better with Sirius gone, I think.” Lily rubbed her eyes and leaned against the sink. “You haven’t heard from Sirius or Emmeline, have you?”

“I read his report about two weeks ago. It seemed like they had a lead.”

“I’m just worried that she threw herself back into the field too soon after her recovery… and for Sirius to take a mission that would take him so far from us for so long….”

Tonks worried, too. But she had a feeling Sirius had run to give Remus less excuses. The last thing he’d said to her in July had been, “Whatever I’ve been doing to help him hasn’t worked in all the years I’ve known him. Maybe I’ve mucked up too many times to make it right. I don’t know….”

Lily stared at the fire as it slowly burned itself out. The dim, flickering light danced in her green eyes, and it made it hard for Tonks to tell if she was near tears or not. “If Sirius isn’t back next month, he'll miss Harry's Quidditch game.”

“No one ever said any of this would be easy,” said Tonks.

“No, but I don’t understand why Remus has to make it harder on everyone.” Lily shook her head. “Sorry — I know that isn’t fair to say. I just….”

Tonks knew what she meant, though. They couldn’t blame Remus for going through something difficult, any more than Tonks could blame herself for not being able to use her Metamorphmagus ability. They each had their own boggarts to confront, and all of it happening in the middle of a war only made things more difficult on everyone.

So Tonks didn’t press Lily to explain. She simply began to help clean up the cauldron Lily had abandoned on the fire. She wasn’t the best at cleaning, and she fumbled each time Lily handed her a glass vial, but Tonks did her best to help Lily prepare another bottle of Blood-Replenishing Potion. Lily didn’t seem interested in talking while they worked, and that was okay. Tonks focused herself on the task at hand, making sure not to break anything or accidentally drop anything into the potion. She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d passed Potions at N.E.W.T. level with her consistent clumsiness, other than through sheer determination to become an Auror.

When the potion was safely sealed and labeled, Tonks put it in the box with the others. There was one potion glowing light blue — a fresh batch of Burning Bitterroot Balm, she guessed — and the rest were red potions with dates and times scrawled on them, going back to noon yesterday.

Lily made them a quick cup of tea, using her wand to heat the water instantly. Tonks took a moment to be in awe of Lily, who seemed a master of the house-keeping charms that had eluded Tonks, Potions, which had always been a challenge, and dueling, which was the only thing Tonks had ever shown a talent for. Tonks had spent her life mastering one thing and working hard to be passable at others; Lily seemed to have it all under control. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Harry his mum was cool.

“Thanks again for helping me.” Lily led Tonks back into the sitting room and pulled a cover off of the sofa so that they could sit. “It’s nice not to sit up alone, praying everyone’s alright.”

Tonks carried the warm mugs, and was careful not to spill as she handed one to Lily. “I think you’re doing me a favour just as much. It’s nice to know that I can do a little something for him, even if it isn’t a lot, even if he won’t talk to me.”

Lily used her wand to light the fireplace, then curled herself up into the corner of the sofa, hands wrapped tightly around her mug. “I can’t understand it, really. But I’ve never been good at understanding Remus.”

“I thought you two were close.”

“Close, yes — we tell each other almost everything. We spent a lot of time together as prefects. I almost made him my chief bridesmaid,” she laughed, “but I don’t understand him. I was rather harsh with him last July.” Lily blew on her tea and took a sip. Her gaze was not on Tonks as she spoke; she seemed to be staring at something much farther away.

“I didn’t know about his condition until our seventh year. I’d always assumed he understood what I was going through because he had a Muggle mother. I’d never dreamed it was because he knew better than I did what it was to be persecuted by wizards. But I always fought to prove myself. I was loud, angry, and maybe not willing to hex someone who mocked me, but I’d certainly outshine them in class. Remus was always quiet, secretive, and avoided people as much as he could. If he hadn’t been roommates with Sirius and James, or at least with people like them, I don’t know that he would’ve ever made friends.”

“It’s a bit different, though, isn’t it?” said Tonks. She flinched as she took a sip of tea and found it still too hot. “I just mean — being Muggle-born. You had ten years at least of a normal life.”

“I suppose. Though I always knew I was a witch. I had… a friend who was a wizard, who knew all about Hogwarts. But he never — well, while we were children — he never did treat me differently because I was Muggle-born. I suppose Remus never knew anything like that, not until he met James and Sirius. But we’ve all been friends for twenty-five years now. And I know what he goes through isn’t easy, but I’m so tired of him tearing himself up over it. I don’t know how to make him understand that we love him, not despite what he is but including what he is.” Lily closed her eyes and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. 

Tonks ran her thumb along the edge of her mug. She took a moment to let the steam warm her face before blowing on her tea and taking a sip. It didn’t hurt so badly as her first sip, but maybe she’d just burned the feeling out of her tongue. “Sirius says he’s just using the werewolf bit as an excuse so he doesn’t have to deal with his feelings.”

Lily hummed in agreement. “I’m sure that’s part of it. James described you as a catalyst, and I think that’s the best way to put it.”

“I don’t want to be anything — I just want to be me. And part of being me is loving him. But that part of me is making it harder to be myself, to be the person I know that I am.” Tonks bit down on her lip, realizing her words were heading dangerously close to thoughts she had been trying so desperately to avoid.

“Love changes us.” Lily’s smile was fond and distant. “You should’ve seen the way it changed James. I changed, too. James made me learn patience and humility, two things I’d never bothered with before. The love that makes you better is the one you want to keep around.”

Tonks was not sure she had changed for the better, at least not in these last six months. She liked spending time with Remus. She thought he made her more empathetic, more considerate, and more careful. Lately, though, she wasn’t happy with the ways she’d changed. She didn’t joke the way she used to, and she knew the loss of her Metamorphmagus abilities was an unfortunate effect. She supposed those losses weren’t because of her relationship with Remus, but because of how he had shut her out. 

“What do you do when parts of him are good for you and other parts aren’t?”

Lily was quiet. Tonks wondered if she’d fallen asleep, and her question had gone unheard. She thought if she closed her eyes for even a moment, she might slip away too.

But then Lily said, “I think that’s why relationships are hard work.”

Tonks added emotional wisdom to the list of things Lily excelled at.

Tonks watched the fire as it slowly burnt out, intent on keeping a vigil all night, but at some point, Lily was shaking her shoulder gently. Tonks looked out of the window to find gray daylight creeping in. She stretched and groaned, stiff and sore from sitting on the sofa for so long. It was a familiar feeling after a life full of naps in odd places.

“Time to go already?”

“Just about.” Lily’s eyes were rimmed red and puffy. Her long red hair was a tangled mess. Tonks decided that she had no interest in looking at her own reflection.

They gathered up the potions and the house-elves. Tonks belatedly remembered her broom was still tucked away in Madam Rosmerta’s shed, but there would not be time to grab it. There was no telling what state Remus and James would be in. She just had to hope it would go unnoticed a bit longer.

Picksie, as a house-elf, had the ability to Apparate into Styncon Garden, and Tonks found it incredibly convenient, having made several uncomfortable Floo trips herself. She disliked traveling by Floo. She was always nervous that she would step into the wrong sitting room. Apparating was far more efficient.

Picksie’s ability also allowed her to Apparate around the grounds of Styncon Garden, which meant they did not have to waste time looking for James and Remus. Picksie was able to check the grounds quickly and return them to the kitchen for Tonks and Lily to treat immediately. With a pop, the house-elf was gone, and with another, she had returned to the kitchen with two very beat up and bloodied men.

As they had discussed beforehand, Lily prioritized the bite marks in James, and Tonks was to heal as many of Remus’s injuries as she could.

What caught her attention first were several punctures in his chest and abdomen that dripped blood. What worried her more than the blood was the way Remus gasped for air. Something, whatever it was that had gored him — Tonks couldn’t imagine what — had probably punctured a lung. Or if it hadn’t, any internal bleeding could be pressing on his lungs and even keeping his heart from beating properly. He may have had both a punctured lung and internal bleeding, judging by the pair of dark purple, heart-shaped bruises on Remus’s chest. Quickly, Tonks ran her wand over Remus’s abdomen, focused first on repairing the deepest of his wounds. Blue light pulsed at the tip of her wand, and she concentrated on that combination of Charms and Transfiguration that made up the root of healing magic. Her father’s voice filled her mind, reminding her of the basics of healing injuries. “The body wants to be fixed, and knows what to do; you’re just helping it along,” he had always said.

She did not have a lot of experience with internal wounds, and found it challenging to work on what she could not see, but she trusted in her own skill, and when his breathing was no longer strangled gasps, she dragged her wand over each of his external wounds, drawing blood away from cavities and knitting together open veins.

Once the immediate danger was settled, and she was certain Remus’s heart and lungs were working appropriately, she took an assessment of everything else. He seemed to have several misaligned joints, which Tonks thought odd injuries, but they were easy enough to set straight. There were also several superficial cuts and scrapes that she left alone, and three breaks in one of his legs that she set, but did not heal for fear of overtaxing his body. When she was confident she had done all that she could, she Levitated his body into the sitting room.

The last time Tonks had been to Styncon Garden, the sitting room had served as a make-shift hospital room for Remus and Sirius, and it looked as if it had not changed. Lily had thrown down towels and padding over both the floor and the furniture, then covered the entire room in white sheets. 

Tonks gently set Remus down on the sofa and pressed the back of her hand to his cheek. He was cold and clammy. She hurried back into the kitchen, careful to step around Picksie and Lily, who were still at work on James — Tonks glimpsed a deep bite mark in his stomach as Picksie lifted a cloth so Lily could drip dittany over the wound — and dug a Blood-Replenishing Potion out from the box. She hurried back to Remus’s side and woke him just enough to get him to drink. Some of the potion spilled as she uncorked the bottle, staining the white sheets with bright red blooms, but Tonks had not expected to be perfect at this. She hadn’t been doing this for years the way Lily had.

Once Remus had finished the potion, with minimal loss down his chin, Tonks helped him lay back down. His eyes closed and he immediately slipped back into sleep. Not only was the transformation itself taxing, and running around at night exhausting, Tonks had needed to draw on his body’s own stores of energy for the healing. It was likely that he would be asleep for a while.

Tonks turned to help Lily, only to find Picksie lifting James with her own wandless magic and setting him down on a set of cushions not far from the sofa Remus rested on. Lily was two steps behind her, uncorking a Blood-Replenishing Potion. “Tonks, please get me another one,” she said, and Tonks rushed to follow instructions.

By the time Tonks returned with another potion, Lily had already gotten James to drink the first one without spilling a drop. Tonks made sure to uncork the second one before handing it to Lily. She thought she saw tear streaks on Lily’s face, which startled her, but she forgot as James coughed and spluttered.

“Hold him still, please —”

Tonks rushed forward and helped hold James’s shoulders still. She realized she was staring at the scarred half of his face and quickly focused on Lily instead.

“No,” he mumbled, half-awake. “I can’t do another —”

“James, please, you lost so much blood.”

It took a bit more coaxing, but Lily was able to convince James to finish the second bottle. Tonks helped him lay back down and pulled a blanket over him. Lily recorked the bottle and pushed herself back to her feet, but James grabbed her hand.

“Lily —”

She knelt back down and squeezed his hand.

“Lily, I can’t do another full moon. Not with him like this. Not without Sirius.”

“I know,” she said. She brushed some of his dark, messy hair out of his face and tears fell from her cheeks onto his. “We’ll talk to them both. We’ll make it work.” 

Tonks looked away, embarrassed to be intruding on this private moment. She did not know what had happened during September’s full moon, but she knew that in July, Sirius had been the one to take the brunt of Remus’s anger, and James had largely been unscathed. She wondered if something had changed between them, or if James had simply become a surrogate for Remus’s anger.

Her eyes caught on something familiar on the mantelpiece. There, tucked among photographs of James and Lily, Remus and Sirius, and Harry, was a wand. Curiosity seized practicality and Tonks crossed the room to examine it more closely. She estimated it was just over ten inches, with a darkly polished handle, and a fine twist to the wood before it tapered off into the end of the wand.

“It’s Remus’s,” Lily said softly.

Tonks turned. Lily was still seated at James’s side, holding his hand, but James appeared to be asleep. Lily wiped her cheeks with the heel of her free hand.

“Remus left it here last May.”

“I thought he broke his wand dueling Bellatrix.”

“Yes, his first wand. He got a new one when Barty Crouch stole his wand a few years ago, the one you’re holding now. He used it for about a year, until Regulus took his old wand back when he killed Barty. It was that one he was using to duel Bellatrix. He never did care for the replacement wand, and hasn’t picked it up since his duel. Says he doesn’t need it when he’s talking to other werewolves.”

“Doesn’t he Apparate?”

“I suppose he doesn’t.”

Tonks set the wand back down carefully beside the jar of Floo powder. Lily extricated her hand from James’s with similar care.

“Watch them for me, will you?” Lily asked. “I’m going to help Picksie take care of the kitchen. I think James left half his blood in the floorboards.”

“Is it always this bad?” Tonks asked.

Lily shook her head. “I think it’s a lot harder, not just because Sirius is gone, and what that means to the both of them but — well, I think simply it is much harder for a deer to manage a wolf than for a dog to manage a wolf.”

Tonks suddenly understood all of Remus’s wounds. She imagined what it must have been like for James, who maintained his reasonable senses during the full moon, to have to corral a wolf in the body of a prey animal, to know he could defend himself but not in any way that might injure Remus too terribly until it was nearly sunrise, and help would be on the way. Tonks could see why he was so desperate to not let another full moon pass in this fashion.

She walked back to Remus’s side and settled herself into the small space between him and James, listening to their steady breathing. Though she knew Remus had passed a violent night, and those violent feelings were still trapped inside of him, he looked peaceful like this. Worn down in the corners of his eyes and in the grey in his hair, and gaunt just hours after a transformation, but peaceful. There was a thin scar that split his lower lip in two, and a striking set of stripes across his nose, but she did not think they made him any less attractive. She’d always been intrigued by her cousin’s best friend, this man who was quiet, respectful, and yet had somehow managed to capture the attention of someone as wild and loud as Sirius Black.

Remus’s breathing changed, and Tonks was pulled from her reverie. She pressed two fingers against Remus’s neck and checked his pulse. It was steady. She let out a sigh of relief, and, just to be sure, took her wand and ran it over his chest again. She saw no sign that anything had torn or open, felt no injury she had not repaired. Her own heartbeat slowed as she realized Remus was alright. 

Then his eyes fluttered open and her heart rate picked up once more. They were green like Lily’s though not as striking, and they seemed strangely unfocused. They settled onto Tonks’s eyes and she wondered for a moment what colour they were. Were they her more usual warm brown? Had they settled into her mother’s grey eyes? Were they something else entirely? Something out of her control?

“Well this is a cruel trick,” Remus whispered, and smiled wryly.

Tonks’ mind whirred like a Snitch desperate to be free of a Seeker’s grasp, but she found no answer, no way to interpret the strange words and expression. Remus only made it worse as he reached up and pressed his hand to her cheek.

“I always knew I hated myself but I didn’t think I’d punish myself with a vision of you with his face.”

Before Tonks could protest that she was not a vision and that this was her face, just her unaffected face, Remus pulled her close and kissed her.

He tasted like blood. He smelled like morning dew. She had not expected to feel the raised scar on his lower lip, but she did. For a moment — the briefest of moments — she closed her eyes and allowed herself to believe this was real, and that she wasn’t going to pretend, for his sake, that he truly had been dreaming.

She pulled herself away and swallowed down the tears that swelled in her throat. “You should rest,” she said.

“You won’t be here when I wake up,” he protested.

“No,” she said. “I won’t.”

Despite her honesty, it seemed that the brief attempt at wakefulness was all he had, and he returned to his proper dreams. Tonks wondered if she would continue to feature in them. It was unfortunate she had never mastered Legilimency. There had been a special course for Aurors, but it required the steadiness of a one-track mind. Tonks may have been stubborn enough to succeed at difficult challenges, but focusing on one thing alone was too much for her.

Which is why her mind was still spinning down several different paths, spiraling out of control. Remus had kissed her. He had not thought she was Sirius. He had not thought she was someone else. He had known who she was, and had only noted she looked like a Black, that she looked like Sirius. He had known who she was and he had kissed her.

But he had thought it was a dream. Did it make a difference?

She wondered if that moment was the only one she would ever get. 

She wondered if that moment made everything better or worse.

“Everything alright?” Lily asked. “Tonks?”

Tonks still had her wand on Remus’s chest. Though her mind was running at a hundred miles an hour, she had not moved an inch.

“Fine,” she said, though she could feel the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She shoved her wand into her pocket and rubbed her eyes until she did not feel like she was about to break. “He’s alright — I just had a little…. It was nothing.”

“Why don’t you get some rest? You’ve got to go back to Hogwarts soon, don’t you?”

“Twelve on, twelve off,” she sighed. She was supposed to be there by nine in the morning, but Mad-Eye had made her swear not to come back until noon. She’d overworked her shift to make sure Katie was cared for, and he’d made her promise to take her entire break. She checked her watch. It was nearly eight am now. She might have fallen asleep on her feet or curled up under the portrait of Sir Cadogan if she’d had to be at the castle by nine.

“I have a few hours,” she said.

“I made a room ready for you yesterday, just in case.”

“Thanks.”

Lily warned her to skip the fourth step on her way upstairs. Tonks thought remembering on her way up was simple enough. Remembering on her way back down would be harder.

Tonks collapsed into bed, not even positive it was the right bed. She could be in Harry’s bed for all she knew, but she didn’t care. Even her worries over Remus vanished when her head hit the pillow, and she knew nothing but sleep.

When her pocketwatch alarm did finally chirp at her, reminding her it was time to return to Hogwarts, the warm afternoon sun was spilling over the bed. It was warm, and she did not want to leave it for the brisk wind of Hogsmeade. Why did Hogwarts have to be so far north anyway?

But she had a job to do. Tonks pulled herself out of bed with a lot of grunting and groaning and stumbled downstairs. She skipped the fourth step largely by accident, after nearly tripping over the fifth, and returned to the sitting room.

Lily was there, but she had fallen asleep on the floor, not far from where James had been laying. She did not see James, but she noted that the door to James and Lily’s bedroom was open. She was glad James was awake and on his feet. She ought to be polite and say goodbyes, but she didn’t want to disturb any of them.

That, of course, all fell apart when she reached for the Floo Powder and dropped it to the floor. The ceramic bowl crashed into the stone hearth and Tonks swore under her breath. It was easy enough to repair, but the damage had been done. She heard movement behind her, the rustling of sheets. She prayed it was Lily. Her prayers went unheard.

“Tonks?” Remus said in a quiet, groggy voice. It was such a raw tone, and Tonks wished he would repeat her name that way over and over again. That prayer went unheard, too.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

As she scooped Floo into the newly fixed jar, she reminded herself not to turn around. She could not let him see her face. She could not let him realise his mistake.

“I just came to make sure you were alright,” she said. “Sirius and the Potters aren’t the only ones who get to worry about you.”

He was quiet as she replaced the jar of Floo Powder on the mantle. She told herself not to turn around. She told herself to throw the powder in and just go. He was alright, he was awake, and she did not need him to know that he had really kissed her. It would only hurt him.

“You shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t what? Shouldn’t be here?”

“You shouldn’t care.” It was such a vulnerable whisper, Tonks wondered if he still thought he was dreaming.

“But I do,” she said, with as much of her own vulnerability as she could muster.

“Well don’t,” he snapped.

Remus was the most reasonable and empathetic person Tonks had ever met, but in this one thing he was proving to be so unreasonably stubborn. She couldn’t understand how he could tell her to simply stop caring, when surely he, of all people, knew how little control you had over who you fell in love with.

She turned around, and it brought her no joy to see his tired, defeated face slacken into shock then twist into horror as he saw the proud Black family cheekbones and her strong jawline, so like Sirius’s. She knew the horror was not at how she looked but at the realisation of what he’d done.

“Fine,” she said. “If you don’t want to talk like adults, we won’t talk like adults. When you’ve decided that you’re ready to be friends again, and actually talk to me like another human being, let me know.” Tonks threw the Floo Powder into the fireplace and stepped through the green flames into the Potters’ cottage in Hogsmeade. She let the cold, brisk wind dry her tears as she continued her solitary walk back up to Hogwarts castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated. I hope you are all well and safe. <3


	13. The Secret Riddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has his second lesson with Dumbledore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're in weekly update territory for a while. I hope you're all staying safe and healthy. <3

Harry did not make a habit of reading textbooks in bed first thing in the morning nor late into the evening, but he’d made an exception for his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_. It wasn’t the potions notes that had him so intrigued, it was the notes around the potions notes that Harry found fascinating. The Prince wasn’t just interested in brewing a perfect Draught of Living Death. He seemed to have a fascination with all sorts of curses.

In the margins of a diagram of Fluxweed, Harry had discovered a hex that made toenails grow suddenly and uncontrollably, which he’d used on Crabbe. Scribbled underneath a note about Veritaserum, Harry found a jinx that caused the tongue to stick tightly to the roof of the mouth, leaving the victim effectively tongue-tied. He’d run into Filch shouting at some first years for tracking mud into the hall, something Harry had experienced all too often after many dirty Quidditch practices, and thought some revenge was owed. It had worked flawlessly.

The spell Harry found to be the most useful was _Muffliato_ , which left an impossible to identify buzzing in the ears of would-be eavesdroppers. It was excellent for holding conversations during class, though Hermione had found everything about the Prince intolerable, and refused to participate in a conversation if she knew Harry had cast the charm. Harry thought she was being perfectly unreasonable. It did not help that Neville supported her argument that hand-written charms were not Ministry-approved, and could be very dangerous for caster and target, but Harry didn’t think much of Ministry-approved anything these days, and ignored their arguments.

Most recently, Harry had discovered _Levicorpus_ , a purely nonverbal spell. He’d tried it out Saturday morning before their Hogsmeade trip and had accidentally given Ron a rather rude awakening, by hoisting him into the air by his ankle. Hermione had given Harry a harsh upbraiding for this spell, but Harry wasn’t sure it was as bad as she said. After all, he’d seen his father use it in the Pensieve in Snape’s memories, and he remembered it being used on himself, by Remus, Sirius, and James. He’d been an excitable toddler who wandered often, and he’d just as often been retrieved by his ankle. Granted, there had been a lot more giggling on Harry’s part than he’d seen in Ron or Snape, but Ron had seen the humour after he’d been safely let down by the counterspell.

Despite Harry’s thorough investigation of the book, he’d come no closer to discovering the author’s identity. He had, unfortunately, ruled out his favourite guesses. His father and Sirius were not half-bloods, and though Sirius might joke about being a disinherited prince, it was unlikely he would have given himself such a pseudonym. Remus was a half-blood, but again, prince seemed like a title Remus would avoid. And Remus had never been decent at Potions, so he was an unlikely author as well.

The one Harry wished it was, more than any of the others, was his mother. He had gotten out his birthday gift and flipped to his mother’s potions recipes to compare her notes to the Prince’s. Though the handwriting was different, so much of the wording was similar, or in some places, even identical. Though his mother was not a half-blood and not a prince in any fashion, he could not help but feel his mother had known the prince. He wondered if she’d learned potions from this book, too.

Harry had considered, several times during their weekly-ish conversations, asking her about the book, but he always hesitated when the moment came. He was unsure how she would feel about his use of someone else’s notes in his Potions. So far, he’d told her his success was because of her help and her notes, which was partially true, considering how similar her notes and the Prince’s were. He thought that he might show her the book at Christmas, but if he did that, he risked her taking it away. The safest course of action would be to wait until after the holidays, when he could ask her about it without fear that she could get her hands on it.

On this particular Monday morning, however, Harry was not poring over _Advanced Potion-Making_. He was instead investigating the Marauder’s Map. His conversation with Tonks after Katie’s accident had been embarrassing and illuminating. Harry had spent his summer doubling-down on his studies of healing magic and defensive spells. He was preparing for an insurmountable task, the task of defeating Voldemort, and Tonks’ quick lesson had shown him just how little he was actually prepared for Aurorship.

Moody had known of the Marauder’s Map, but had not confiscated it as a professor ought to, as Remus had during his time as a professor. Instead, Moody had handed it right back to Harry, and told Harry it was an invaluable tool. Harry wished he’d thought to use it sooner. So far it had told him three very important things.

Firstly, he was unable to find Draco Malfoy in the Slytherin dormitories, nor the Great Hall, nor anywhere on the map for that matter. That told Harry either Malfoy was sneaking off to Hogsmeade or elsewhere, or that Malfoy had found a way to conceal his movements within the castle, though he had no knowledge of the map. It was suspicious either way.

Secondly, Katie Bell was no longer in the hospital wing. She was not on the map at all, but had instead been transferred to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Harry knew she was lucky to be alive, and he wished he knew more than that, but it seemed no one had answers.

Finally, though Harry scoured every inch of the map, he could not find Dumbledore. He did find Fabian Prewett on the fourth floor, and he remembered what McGonagall had said about the school being in good hands. Tonks was not the only Auror who was patrolling Hogwarts castle in Dumbledore’s absence. 

The only part that truly concerned Harry was that Ginny had delivered him a parchment with the date of Dumbledore’s next lesson, scheduled for that very evening. Harry wondered if Dumbledore would return in time. He certainly hoped so, because if Dumbledore did not return for the lesson, Hermione was certainly going to drag him to Slughorn’s supper, and Harry knew which of those two meetings he preferred to attend.

As Harry did not hear anything about Dumbledore canceling nor postponing, he headed past the gargoyles and knocked on Dumbledore’s office door promptly at eight o’clock.

“Enter,” the Headmaster’s familiar voice said, and Harry pushed the door open.

Dumbledore was seated at his desk, just as he had been the last time Harry was here. His blackened, disfigured hand rested on the desk, and Harry thought he looked exceptionally exhausted. The Pensieve was on the desk as well, but the locket and the ring were no longer laid out on the desk.

With his usable hand, Dumbledore smiled and gestured for Harry to take a seat.

“I understand you’ve had a busy time while I’ve been away,” he said. “I believe you witnessed Katie’s accident.”

“Yes, sir. It was lucky Tonks was there.”

“I don’t know if it was luck as much as it was foresight on my part. Though I heard you handled yourself appropriately as well. Rushing for Hagrid’s help was quick thinking on your part.”

“Er — I don’t know about that, sir. I mean, it was, but I should’ve been more helpful. Tonks reminded me to be more careful of my surroundings, to pay attention to who’s near me, even somewhere like Hogsmeade, or even Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore nodded. “A wise lesson.”

He considered telling Dumbledore that he’d decided to carry the Marauder’s Map with him as surely as he carried his wand and cloak, but decided the Marauders would not approve of the Headmaster of Hogwarts knowing about such a mischievous item, so instead, Harry turned to the other point of conversation he was far more interested in discussing. “She also seemed confident that it was a woman who cursed Katie but — er —”

“You believe differently?”

“I think it was Draco Malfoy — sir.”

Dumbledore’s face remained unchanged. He seemed neither surprised by nor critical of this accusation. His lack of response urged Harry to keep talking, to explain himself and fill the space.

“He knew about the necklace. He saw it in Borgin and Burke’s. And — Professor, I think he’s a Death Eater.” Harry, though he did not give Dumbledore the details of skulking down Knockturn Alley with the Invisibility Cloak, told Dumbledore he’d overheard Draco show Borgin something on his arm.

This information, too, did not disconcert Dumbledore.

“It may interest you to know, Harry,” Dumbledore finally said, “that Malfoy spent his Saturday in detention with Professor McGonagall.”

Harry did not care for this crushing bit of information. “Someone could have done it for him, though.”

This comment seemed to amuse Dumbledore; at least, Harry thought there was the tiniest twitch in the corner of Dumbledore’s mouth.

“I shall see to it the matter is fully investigated. For now,” Dumbledore reached into his cloak and pulled out a vial full of viscous silver memories, “I am most concerned with our lesson. Shall we?”

Harry was not quite ready to set aside his suspicions of Draco Malfoy, and thought Katie’s accident far more pressing than old memories of Tom Riddle’s family. “Sir — I just want to know — will Katie be alright?”

“I am afraid that question does not have an answer any more sure than the question of who cursed her. I can say she was relatively lucky. Tonks’, Hagrid’s and of course your own quick thinking got her help as quickly as possible, and her only contact with the necklace was through a tiny hole in her glove. Had she put the necklace on or even held it in an ungloved hand, she would have died, perhaps instantly. Luckily Professor Snape was able to do enough to prevent the rapid spread of the curse, and the staff at St. Mungo’s are now doing everything they can for her. They are sending me hourly reports, and I am hopeful that Katie will make a full recovery, in time.”

As if that closed the conversation, Dumbledore used his wand to uncork the vial and poured the contents into the Pensieve. Harry, though, had one more question.

“Where were you this weekend, sir?”

“I would rather not say just now. However, I shall tell you in due course.”

“You will?”

“Yes, I expect so. Now, you will remember, I am sure, that we left the tale of Lord Voldemort’s beginnings at the point where the handsome Muggle, Tom Riddle, had abandoned his witch wife, Merope, and returned to his family home in Little Hangleton. Merope was left alone in London, expecting the baby who would one day become Lord Voldemort.”

“How do you know she was in London, sir?”

“It is an interesting coincidence that you mentioned Mr Borgin, for our evidence in fact comes from Caractacus Burke.”

This time, instead of taking Harry into the memory, Dumbledore waved his wand over the Pensieve and the small figure of a silvery old man rose out of the shallow bowl.

“Yes,” the figure said, “we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along… Going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin’s. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time. ‘Oh, this was Merlin’s, this was, his favorite teapot,’ but when I looked at it, it had his mark alright, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn’t seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!”

Harry blinked. “Ten Galleons? For a locket that belonged to Salazar Slytherin?”

“Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity,” Dumbledore said. He was neither critical, like Harry was, nor sympathetic. “So we know that, near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London and in desperate need of gold, desperate enough to sell her one and only valuable possession, the locket that was one of Marvolo’s treasured family heirlooms.”

Harry shook his head, confused. “But she could do magic, couldn’t she? She could have got food and everything for herself that way. Didn’t you say she did all the cooking at home?”

“Ah,” Dumbledore nodded, “perhaps she could have cared for herself. But it is my belief — I am guessing again, but I am sure I am right — that when Riddle abandoned her, Merope stopped using magic. I do not think she wanted to be a witch any longer. Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers. I believe you have witnessed that first hand.”

Harry thought about Tonks, and how she had been unable to change her appearance when she had visited that summer. He wondered what it must be like to love someone so desperately that nothing else, not even magic, mattered. It sounded dangerous to throw oneself into a single person.

But Harry also remembered the strain it had put on his parents to be apart while his mother was a professor. He remembered what he had been told about the night Voldemort had attacked his parents while they were in hiding, how James had stood between his mother and Voldemort, wandless and defenseless, and wondered how different things might have been had his father died there, and it had only been Harry’s mother who had survived. 

“It seems like a dangerous thing then, to put so much love into someone who you could lose in an instant,” Harry said quietly.

“It is tragic,” Dumbledore agreed, “to love someone and lose them unexpectedly. Merope, in her distress, chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but before you judge her too harshly, Harry, remember she was greatly weakened by long suffering. She did not have the love and support that you have enjoyed, and while you are right to be wary of throwing your whole self into one person, remember that the reward for that risk is even greater. You perhaps know this better than most wizards.”

Harry ran his hand over the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. Love had saved him and his parents from Voldemort. His parents did not discuss Peter Pettigrew, but he could only imagine the kind of love and courage it would take to choose to face Voldemort to save someone else’s life.

“I don’t know if I could do that — I mean, I’ve faced Voldemort, but never —” 

“Do not sell yourself short, Harry. Did you not stand between Tom Riddle and Ginny Weasley in the Chamber of Secrets? Did you not risk yourself last summer in an effort to save Snape, someone whom you do not share much love for at all, as I understand. You are brave, Harry, and you do not like to watch others suffer. Now, if you will stand….”

Harry was startled, but stood as Dumbledore stood. “Where are we going, sir?”

“This time we are going to enter my memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you, Harry….”

As he had done a handful of times before, Harry leaned over the Pensieve, pressing his face into the cool silver, and fell into a memory.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

Cedric — 

I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. There hasn’t been much to tell you. Everything was quiet until this weekend. You probably heard that Katie Bell got cursed. Tonks was there, and she helped save Katie — at least, I hope Katie’s safe. I’d never seen something like that before. I remember when the Death Eaters lifted the Muggle family into the air at the Quidditch cup but this was so much worse. Katie was screaming, and in so much pain. I felt so helpless. It was sort of like being back in the Department of Mysteries, watching people get hurt and being unable to do anything about it.

Dumbledore thinks she’ll be alright — well, he said he hopes she’ll be alright. It’s even scarier to think there are things happening that even Dumbledore doesn’t know about. He doesn’t seem to believe that Draco Malfoy is the one who Imperiused Katie to take the necklace into Hogwarts, but it’s got to be him. I saw him in Knockturn Alley in the shop where the necklace was. I know he showed Borgin a Dark Mark. I didn’t see his Dark Mark, but why else would he roll up his sleeve to Borgin to convince him to help? And he wouldn’t let Madam Malkin roll up his sleeve when we were purchasing school robes. I don’t know how exactly Malfoy’s involved in it all, but I know he is. I just wish I knew what his plan was.

He’s even leaving the school somehow. I’m sure of it, but I haven’t figured out how.

I told Dumbledore that I think Malfoy’s responsible, and he said he’d investigate it, but he wasn’t very convincing. I don’t think he believes me any more than Ron, Hermione, and Neville do.

I had my second lesson with Dumbledore last night. He showed me what Tom Riddle was like as a boy. It was strange to see him as a child. He was just a kid in an orphanage, but still — he was odd. And violent to the other kids in the orphanage. He was suspicious of Dumbledore, and he knew the lady who ran the orphanage didn’t trust him much. He had even taught himself a good deal of magic and had control over it, especially for someone who’d never been to school. He was polite with Dumbledore as soon as he knew Dumbledore was a wizard, though. It was strange to watch him change from angry to polite so quickly…. It was hard not to remember the graveyard.

Dumbledore found a bunch of toys that Tom Riddle had stolen from other kids in the orphanage, and he scolded him for it, and told him that there were magical laws. I don’t know that Tom Riddle really cared, but he seemed to pretend to. And when Dumbledore told him about Diagon Alley and needing all his school things, he insisted on going alone. 

Dumbledore said that he knew he ought to keep an eye on Riddle while he was at Hogwarts. Obviously he didn’t know that Riddle was going to become Voldemort, but he didn’t like how he was using magic to punish and control the other children in the orphanage. He also wasn’t sure about how secretive Riddle could be.

When we were done with the memory, Dumbledore pointed out a bunch of things about Tom Riddle I hadn’t even noticed, or I didn’t think were all that important, but when Dumbledore laid it all out it made sense. It made me realise, again, just how much I have to learn if I want to be an Auror like you and Tonks. 

Dumbledore said it was important to remember how Riddle didn’t like his name Tom, and that he hated anything that made him ordinary. I guess that’s why he felt the need to change his name to “Lord Voldemort.” He also was secretive and isolated himself from others. I thought this sounded contrary to someone who has a group of followers, but Dumbledore says that the Death Eaters don’t truly know him, that Voldemort does not confide in them. Dumbledore said Voldemort has never had a friend, and he doesn’t think Voldemort has ever even wanted a friend.

He said it was important to know that Tom Riddle took things from the kids he bullied, but I don’t know what that has to do with anything. Dumbledore just said it would be important later. I can’t imagine why.

That was all Dumbledore told me. It felt so useless, honestly. But I didn’t really understand why the first memory was important, and you were able to dig up all sorts of information on that. I don’t know how much you could do with a Muggle orphanage, but I expect Dumbledore will explain it all eventually. I don’t know why he waits so long between lessons if they’re so important! I don’t know where he keeps going, either, but he’s definitely leaving Hogwarts for some reason. I suppose the Ministry wouldn’t know, either, would they?

I hope your Auror training is going well. The _Prophet_ makes everything look bad. Is it really all that terrible?

— Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated!


	14. Felix Felicis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tries to fix things. Spoilers: he does not fix things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU is literally the only thing that is getting me through quarantine. I don't know what I would do if I didn't have this project (maybe write my own novel). Anyway, I'm just really happy to have this, and I hope it gives you at least a small ray of joy.

Herbology was an excellent class to talk in, given the noisy nature of practical work. On their long walk down to the greenhouse Tuesday morning, Harry told Ron, Neville, and Hermione what he’d learned from Dumbledore in his lesson the previous evening. 

Neville shivered in the cold morning mist. “I’m glad he didn’t go to school with us. He sounds awful.”

“Yeah, it’s a scary thought,” Ron said, and pushed the door open for everyone. “The Boy You-Know-Who.” He shook his head and accepted the set of protective gloves from Hermione. “But I still don’t get why Dumbledore’s showing you all this. I mean, it’s really interesting and everything, but what’s the point?”

Hermione pulled her thick hair back from her face. “I think it’s fascinating,” she said. “It makes absolute sense to know as much about Voldemort as possible. How else will you find out his weaknesses?”

Neville pulled a pair of protective goggles on and headed straight for one of the Snargaluff stumps. Harry watched as what had looked to be a half-rotted stump sprang to life. Thick, thorny vines erupted from its center, doing their best to beat Neville back and prevent him from retrieving the pods buried beneath the roots.

Harry took some time adjusting his goggles. “How was Slughorn’s party?” he asked.

“Oh, it was quite fun, really,” she said, with a tone that surprised Harry. He’d spent so long mocking the suppers with Ron and Ginny during his conveniently scheduled Quidditch practices, that he had assumed Hermione had been miserable at them, but he supposed he and Ron had just pretended that she hated the dinners for so long, they’d believed it must be true.

“I mean, he drones on about famous ex-pupils a bit,” she added, “and he absolutely fawns on McLaggen because he’s so well-connected, but he gave us some really nice food, and he introduced us to Gwenog Jones.”

“Gwenog Jones?” Ron spluttered. “The Gwenog Jones? Captain of the Holyhead Harpies?”

“She’s Ginny’s favorite,” Harry said, surprised both by Hermione meeting such a popular Quidditch star and by this strange fact that had leapt unbidden to his tongue.

“Yes, that Gwenog Jones,” Hermione said, and gave Harry a curious look. “Ginny was quite shocked to meet her. Though McLaggen did put a damper on her enthusiasm. Personally, I thought she was a bit full of herself — Jones, I mean, not Ginny —”

Before Harry could ask what McLaggen did this time, other than be himself, Professor Sprout came by their table and urged them to get started. Neville had already retrieved a pod all on his own. It was impossible to discuss who someone’s favorite Quidditch player was and why that information was pertinent when a Snargaluff stump was busy protecting its pods with thick whips and constricting roots.

Hermione was the one who reached her hand into the center of the stump while Ron and Harry held back the vines. She triumphantly emerged with a glowing, pulsating pod about as big as a fist. Once she’d pulled the pod free, the vines retreated into the stump and it once again appeared to be an innocent piece of dying tree.

“Don’t be squeamish!” Professor Sprout said. “Squeeze it out; they’re best when they’re fresh.”

Hermione, with a look of disgust, dropped the pod into the bowl Harry passed her. She did not look like she had any interest in squeezing pus from the pod, protective gloves or not. She passed the bowl to Ron and said, “Anyway, Slughorn’s going to have a Christmas party, Harry, and there’s no way you’ll be able to wriggle out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings so he could be sure to have it on a night you can come.”

Harry groaned, and Ron, who had been attempting to squeeze the tube’s juices out by pressing down on it, stood and used his entire weight to push on the pod in the bowl.

“And this is another party just for Slughorn’s favorites, is it?” he said, though he was looking down at the pod when he did, and it was possible the frustration on his face was at the pod’s resistance to being squeezed. Possible, but not probable.

“Just for the Slug Club, yes,” said Hermione.

The pod slipped out from Ron’s hands after a particularly violent push. It flew across the green house, smacking into the glass ceiling with an unattractive squelch and plopping down onto Professor Sprout’s hat. Harry hurried to retrieve it.

When he returned, Hermione was saying, “Look, I didn’t make up the name ‘Slug Club’ —”

“Slug Club — It’s pathetic!” Ron’s disgusted face could no longer be blamed on the pod, because Harry was now the one holding it. Ron’s hands were tightened into fists on the table and his face was slowly turning red. “Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don’t you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug —”

“We’re allowed to bring guests,” Hermione snapped, “and I was going to ask you to come, but if you think it’s that stupid then I won’t bother!”

Harry knew Hermione well enough to know from the rough edge in her voice that if he looked up, he would see tears in the corner of her eyes. As it was, he had absolutely no desire to look up, and instead looked back over his shoulder to see if Neville could provide him with an escape from this, but Neville was showing Professor Sprout the jar full of pus he had already collected.

So instead, Harry banged the pod against the bowl as loudly as he could manage, but it was not loud enough to drown out Ron and Hermione’s conversation.

“You were going to ask me?” Ron said, and he no longer sounded like he found Snargaluff pods and the Slug Club equally disgusting. It was a surprisingly soft voice for Ronald Weasley.

Hermione, though, was still furious. “Yes. But obviously if you’d rather I hooked up with McLaggen —”

Harry grabbed a trowel and beat the pod with the flat side of it. The slaps and squelches did not cover Ron’s very soft, very gentle answer.

“No, I wouldn’t.”

Harry missed the pod and the bowl shattered beneath the trowel with a loud crash. He repaired it quickly, but the crash had reminded Ron and Hermione where they were and who they were with. Hermione hastily dug through her bag for her textbook, intent on hiding her face from everyone for a moment. Ron gave Harry a slightly apologetic smile, but he seemed pleased with himself. Harry didn’t blame him. He wondered if this was finally going to be the end of Ron and Hermione’s bickering and he could finally have some peace.

“Hand that trowel over, Harry,” Hermione said as she ran her finger over a page of _Flesh-Eating Trees of the World_. “It says we’re supposed to puncture them with something sharp.”

Harry handed over the trowel and pod and eagerly dove back into the stump for another pod.

He thought perhaps this might be the beginning of a new chapter for Ron and Hermione, but he observed no identifiable changes between them over the next few days. They were more polite to each other, at the least. But there were no whispered conversations, nor solitary walks like Harry might’ve expected from his friends, like Harry remembered from his brief relationship with Cho Chang. But perhaps it was better as it was, considering the way he and Cho had gone. Perhaps Ron and Hermione simply being friendly again was what they needed. Hadn’t he learned from watching his parents that friends made the best partners? But he’d also learned the opposite watching Remus and Sirius.

Only time would tell. Harry didn’t care to play matchmaker between his friends; instead he had a Quidditch team to sort out.

As Halloween passed, and the Slytherin game came ever closer, Harry reluctantly admitted he would need to replace Katie Bell. She was still being treated at St. Mungo’s, and there was little chance she would be recovered in time for the match. Even if she was, she hadn’t been training with the team, and he needed time to make sure his Chasers flew well together. And as Harry had no interest in wasting another Saturday with the circus of tryouts, he knew he would have to ask someone to fill in as Katie’s alternate.

The next best flyer from tryouts had been Dean Thomas, a choice that Harry made reluctantly for several reasons. Least of which, Dean and Seamus were both good friends, and choosing one over the other would upset Seamus. But Harry swallowed down this fear, cornered Dean after Transfiguration class, and offered him the position.

Another reason Harry had wished for a choice other than Dean was the way other Gryffindors whispered about his choices. Granted, Harry had a good deal of experience with Hogwarts spreading rumors about him and whispering behind his back. As irritating as it was to have his housemates annoyed that he had chosen some of his closest friends for the Quidditch team, it was nothing compared to people thinking he was the heir of Slytherin, or that he was half-mad and cared about nothing but his own fame.

There were other reasons Harry disliked having to choose Dean Thomas, but he didn’t dwell on those. Instead, he comforted himself with how well they flew at their first practice together. Dean, Ginny, and Demelza were as synchronized as Katie, Angelina, and Alicia had been. They passed the Quaffle with practiced ease, like they had been doing it for years. Harry knew that his Chasers had what it took to crush Slytherin. His Beaters, too, were getting better with each practice. Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote were not natural flyers, not the way Fred and George had been, but they had enthusiasm and took correction well.

It was Ron who was proving troublesome. His confidence was flagging, and it seemed to get worse daily.

Harry knew if he did not win this match against Slytherin, he would go down as one of Gryffindor’s worst captains who had ruined the team’s winning streak by choosing only his friends for the team. The trouble was, he did not know how to boost Ron’s confidence. Harry had not witnessed the game in which, by some miracle, Ron had saved every goal and Ginny had snatched the Snitch from under Cho Chang’s nose. He did not know what Ron needed to calm his nerves before their match against Slytherin in just two weeks.

After a particularly awful play, in which Ron punched Demelza Robbins in the face and broke her nose, and Ginny hit Ron with the Quaffle as often as she scored — Harry was certain that it was intentional, but he had no way to prove it — and Peakes caught Harry with a nasty Bludger to the shoulder, Harry called an end to practice an hour early.

Ginny stormed off to change without a word to even Dean, which Harry found both pleasing and unsettling. He wanted to run after to check on her, but Dean was already on it. Harry decided as Captain, he ought to focus on Demelza and Ron.

Fixing Demelza’s broken nose was easy enough with all the practice Harry had received over the summer; Ron’s ego was an entirely different matter.

“I played like a sack of dragon dung,” Ron said as he touched down. And while it was true, Harry refused to admit it.

“No — not at all.” Thankfully, no one was left on the pitch to refute Harry. “You’re the best Keeper I tried out, Ron. Your only problem is nerves.”

Ron still looked pale as they headed to the changing rooms, so Harry kept the encouragement up as best he could. He reminded Ron of his better saves, of his championship game against Ravenclaw last year, of his perfect tryout score. It helped — at least, Harry thought Ron looked marginally cheered by the time they reached the castle.

They took their usual shortcut up to Gryffindor tower. Harry pulled back the tapestry that hid a staircase and was greeted with a vision that would haunt him for months to come.

Ginny Weasley and Dean Thomas had apparently moved on from whatever sour mood Ginny had been in, because Ginny’s hands were twisted tightly into Dean’s t-shirt, pulling him closer, and his hands were on her hips — no, lower — pulling her against him. Their lips were pressed together just as tightly, parting only for a moment, long enough for Harry to hear a sound from Ginny that burned all other thought from his mind.

“Oi!” Ron shouted.

Harry had hardly heard him, but as Dean and Ginny parted, the hot white anger dampened slightly, just enough for him to process the conversation around him.

“What?” Ginny snapped, though she did not let go of Dean’s t-shirt as she turned to look at Ron.

“I don’t want to find my own sister snogging people in public!”

“This was a deserted corridor till you came butting in!”

Harry considered letting the corridor return to being deserted and doing his best to pretend what he had just witnessed was a nightmare. He also considered doing something outrageous and drastic, like punching Dean Thomas.

Dean, for his part, had let go of Ginny, and seemed to be looking to Harry for sympathy. He even smiled with a little embarrassment but not proper shame on his face. Harry found himself unable to do anything more than stare back, and hope the anger that burned in his stomach was not visible on his face.

“Er… c’mon, Ginny,” Dean said. “Let’s go back to the common room.”

“You go!” Ginny finally let go of Dean only to fold her arms over her chest. “I want a word with my dear brother!”

Dean did not look too upset at being sent away. He was surely familiar enough with Ginny’s temper. Harry was, too, but he had a feeling that if he followed Dean he would do something he would later regret.

“Right.” Ginny tossed her hair over her shoulder with a haughty glare. “Let’s get this straight once and for all, Ronald. It is none of your business who I go out with or what I do with them.”

Ron’s face was as red as Ginny’s. “Yeah, it is! D’you think I want people saying my sister’s a —”

“A what?” Ginny shrieked with a sort of anger Harry had never truly seen on her. She even pulled her wand from her pocket. “A what, exactly? I s’pose you and McLaggan —”

Harry got between Ron and Ginny, though it seemed a dangerous place to be. “You know Ron’s never spoken two words to McLaggan. He doesn’t mean it.”

“Yes — he does!” Her anger did not wane at all with Harry between them; it seemed to increase. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’ve all said about me. I don’t care.” The heat on her face and the tears that slipped down her cheeks belied her apathy. “Ron’s just jealous that he’s never snogged anyone in his life — just because the best kiss he’s ever had is Auntie Muriel —”

Harry could hear Ron fumbling for his wand and a small, distant part of Harry thought Ron should be better prepared in case of a duel.

“Shut your mouth!” Ron said.

“No, I will not!” Ginny no longer seemed to care that Harry was between them. She grabbed his shoulder and tried to shove him aside.

Harry thought himself particularly stalwart to hold himself there, to not make an attempt to grab her hand, though his stomach twisted with an unbidden electricity.

“I’ve seen you with Phlegm,” Ginny shouted over Harry, unable to get around him, “hoping she’ll kiss you on the cheek every time you see her. It’s pathetic! If you went out and got a bit of snogging done yourself, you wouldn’t mind so much that everyone else does it!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Ron, now, tried to move around Harry to get to Ginny. Harry put his hand on Ron’s shoulder to hold him back in a way he dared not do with Ginny in this moment.

“Just because I don’t do it in public —” Ron said, but he was cut off by Ginny’s laughter.

“Been kissing Pigwidgeon, have you? Or have you got a picture of Auntie Muriel stashed under your pillow?”

An orange streak flew past Harry and missed Ginny by inches. Harry shoved Ron back into the wall, instinctively, unsure which of them he was trying to protect.

“Harry’s snogged Cho Chang!”

Though he had his back to her, Harry could hear the tears in Ginny’s voice. 

“And Hermione’s snogged Viktor Krum!” 

Harry wanted so desperately to turn around and say something comforting.

“It’s only you who acts like it’s something disgusting, Ron!”

Harry wondered if he held her, would Ginny feel better? If he let her cry into his arms —

“And that’s because you’ve got about as much experience as a twelve-year-old!” 

Ginny stormed down the corridor, towards the common room, and Harry maintained his hold on Ron not just to keep Ron there, but to keep himself from chasing Ginny as well. She would go back and cry on Dean’s shoulder, and there was nothing Harry could do about that.

When Harry was certain neither he nor Ron were going to start a duel the moment they walked into the common room, he let go. They did not move, each absorbed in their own all-consuming anger and frustration. It was not until Mrs. Norris rounded the corner that they felt compelled to hurry up to bed.

They made it up seven flights and passed the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. “Out of the way!” Ron snarled at a small girl, who was clearly out after her years’ curfew. She jumped in fright and dropped a bottle of toadspawn.

Harry vaguely registered the crash of glass on the stone floor, and thought Ron, as a prefect, ought to tell her to get back to the common room, but all thought seemed distant. His mind was elsewhere, wandering hidden corridors with Ginny. 

“D’you think Hermione did snog Krum?” Ron asked suddenly.

Harry was stunned by the question, and had to drag his thoughts away from the corridor and back to the present.

“Oh — er…” Though he did not dare give it, Harry knew the answer to Ron’s question. He didn’t think Ron would like the answer anymore than he would like to walk in on Harry snogging Ginny.

Ron, it seemed, interpreted Harry’s nonanswer just fine. “Dilligrout,” he grunted at the portrait of the Fat Lady, who swung open without comment.

They headed straight for bed without a word. As Harry undressed and set the two-way mirror on his bedside table, he considered calling his parents. He had checked in with them after the full moon, and was glad they were alright. Though his father’s pallor had been worrisome, they had both assured him that everything was fine. They’d also promised to be at Harry’s Quidditch match.

Harry didn’t know what he would say to them if he did check in tonight. There was nothing on his mind except Ginny Weasley in the corridor. That was not something he wanted to discuss with his parents. Maybe with Sirius.

The clearest non-Ginny related thought Harry had as he dressed for bed occurred briefly and sharply. He wondered, just for a moment, if what he’d felt when he’d seen Ginny and Dean in that corridor was anything like what Sirius felt about Tonks and Remus. Was that why Sirius had taken a mission so far away for so long?

Harry buried his face into his pillow and hoped that Sirius would come to his Quidditch match. He did not know who else he could talk to, who else would understand. He wondered if he would be able to focus much at Quidditch with his head muddled like this. Though they were nothing like the nightmares he’d had last year, Harry’s dreams were unpleasant and full of furious Rons and Ginny Weasleys, showering him and each other in curses.

Harry found that he preferred dreams of Cho Chang being upset about chocolate frog cards. He spent much of his morning lying in bed, wondering why the fury he felt towards Dean was so much stronger than the frustration he’d felt with Cedric back then.

Harry did not find his answers as the days went on, and Ron’s mood did not improve. Instead, it grew worse, and so did his Quidditch playing.

Off the Quidditch pitch, Ron was predictably rude to Dean, was not speaking with Ginny, and was unusually snide with Hermione. Hermione was bewildered by this treatment, and no amount of peace-keeping on Harry’s part seemed able to resolve the situation. When Hermione warned him against dropping his knarl quills into his potion before stirring, Ron snapped that he knew perfectly well what he was doing, and why didn’t she pay attention to her own potion. Harry, whose book told him that it was better to add the quills while stirring, did not know how to help them.

On the Quidditch pitch, Ron was both unusually aggressive and a terrible Keeper. He and Ginny sniped at each other, and he managed to criticize each player on the team, despite how terribly he himself was playing — or perhaps because of how terribly he was playing. At their last practice before their opening game of the season, Ron went several steps too far, and made Demelza Robbins cry.

“Enough!” Harry finally shouted. The fury in Ginny’s eyes was likely to turn into a Bat-Bogey Hex at any moment, and Jimmy Peakes looked ready to launch the next Bludger into Ron’s face.

“Peakes, pack up the Bludgers. Robbins — pull yourself together. You played really well today. And Ron —” Harry dropped his broom down beside Ron while the others left the pitch. “Listen, Ron — you’re my best mate, but carry on treating the rest of them like this and I’m going to kick you off the team.”

Harry was braced for Ron to hit him, to react out of the anger that had been boiling over all week, but to his surprise, Ron dropped down a few feet, as if it was his anger that was keeping him afloat.

“I resign,” he said. “I’m pathetic.”

This was not the response Harry had hoped for. True, Ron had failed to save a single one of Ginny’s goals, but Harry knew how great a player Ron could be when his heart was in it. Since encouragement hadn’t been working, Harry tried a different tactic.

He grabbed the front of Ron’s robes and pulled him closer. “You can save anything when you’re on form. It’s a mental problem you’ve got!”

“You calling me mental?”

“Yeah, maybe I am!”

For a moment, Harry thought the fight had returned to Ron, but it left just as quickly as it had appeared, and Ron shook his head. “I know you haven’t got any time to find another Keeper, so I’ll play tomorrow, but if we lose, and we will, I’m taking myself off the team.”

Harry tried to imagine the team without Ron. He would have to replace him with Cormac McLaggen. Just the thought of it made Harry’s stomach turn.

But no amount of cajoling or criticizing or cheering would lift Ron’s spirits. Even when they went to dinner, Ron seemed more interested in snapping at Hermione than in any conversation Harry tried to have about Quidditch. Even when Hermione went up to bed early, tired of Ron’s attitude, Ron did not care to hear Harry’s insistence that the team would be devastated if Ron quit. Harry’s words were undercut by the Quidditch team, huddled together and throwing Ron nasty looks. Nothing Harry did worked.

That night, Hary put together a plan. He would not lose tomorrow’s match — he couldn’t. It was his first match back since Umbridge’s ban and his first match as Captain. He could not let down his team nor his house. Also, he was determined to crush Draco Malfoy. He just needed to guarantee that Ron would have a really good day….

The weather that Saturday was perfect for a game. The excitement in the Great Hall was overwhelming. Slytherins booed as the Gryffindor Quidditch players entered the hall for breakfast, and Gryffindor returned the favor. Even Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were decked out in reds and greens to support their friends in this intensive rivalry game. The entire Gryffindor table and half of the Hufflepuff table cheered as Ron and Harry entered. Harry grinned, used to this treatment, and Ron did his best to smile back, but he looked as pale as he had before his very first match. 

“Cheer up, Ron!” Lavender said, passing by the two of them unusually closely. “I know you’ll be brilliant!”

Ron didn’t seem to notice her.

“Tea?” Harry offered as they took a seat. “Coffee? Pumpkin juice?”

“Anything,” Ron said, and took a bite of toast.

Harry waited until Hermione had come downstairs. She’d taken to waiting to join them for meals, and Harry didn’t blame her, given Ron’s attitude. Today, when she approached she gave Ron a wary glance.

“How are you both feeling?” she asked.

“Fine,” Harry said, as cheerily as he could manage. He handed Ron a full glass of pumpkin juice. “There you go, Ron. Drink up.”

Hermione stared as Ron lifted the glass. As he put it to his lips she snapped suddenly, “Don’t drink that, Ron!”

Ron hesitated. “Why not?”

Harry looked up at Hermione with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, Hermione, why not?”

Hermione stared at Harry in utter disbelief. “You just put something in that drink.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I saw you. You just tipped something into Ron’s drink. You’ve got the bottle in your hand right now!”

Harry tucked the small golden vial into his pocket. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“Ron, I warn you — don’t drink it!”

“Stop bossing me around, Hermione,” Ron grunted, then downed the glass in one big gulp.

Hermione leaned close to Harry and hissed, “You should be expelled for that! I’d never have believed it of you, Harry!”

“Hark who’s talking,” he hissed back. “Confunded anyone lately?”

Hermione frowned. She apparently did not have it in her to take attitude from both Ron and Harry today, but Harry didn’t mind that she stormed off. He only prayed that she would wait until the end of the game to tell a teacher.

As they headed up to the pitch, Ron still looked a little green.

“Lucky the weather’s so good,” Harry offered. There was still a chill in the air, but to have such a clear sky on a Quidditch game day was lucky indeed.

When they got to the changing room, the girls were already in their Quidditch robes. Ginny, as had become her habit, ignored Ron and turned to Harry.

“Conditions look ideal,” she said.

Harry nodded. His tongue had taken to turning into lead when Ginny was around. He found that was probably safer than saying something he might regret.

“And guess what? That Slytherin Chaser Vaisey — he took a bludger to the head yesterday during their practice, and he’s too sore to play! And even better than that — Malfoy’s gone off sick too.”

Harry, midway through pulling his robes over his head, turned to face Ginny. “What? He’s ill? What’s wrong with him?”

“No idea,” she grinned, “but it’s great for us. They’re playing Harper instead; he’s in my year and he’s an idiot.”

Harry finally got the robes over his head and tied off the golden laces. He wondered why Malfoy wasn’t playing. It seemed strange that Malfoy would willingly back out of a Quidditch match against Harry, after so many years of vicious competition. The score between them currently sat at two wins for Harry and one win for Malfoy, though Harry’s second win had been dampened by Umbridge’s declaration that Harry was banned from Quidditch for life. Harry had been certain Malfoy would be looking to settle a score.

“Fishy, isn’t it?” Harry whispered to Ron. “Malfoy not playing?”

“Lucky, I call it,” Ron said. He pulled his gloves on. “And Vaisey off too — he’s their best goal scorer. I didn’t fancy — hey!” Ron froze, helmet half on, and stared at Harry.

“What?”

“I… you… my drink —” Ron dropped his voice and leaned closer to Harry. “My pumpkin juice — you didn’t…?” 

Harry, who knew how illegal fixing a Quidditch match with potions could be, said nothing. “We’ll be starting in about five minutes. You’d better get your boots on.”

When they walked out onto the pitch, the crowd shouted an equal measure of cheers and jeers, depending on which half of the stadium they were seated on. Harry waved to the Gryffindor half of the stands and turned to the teacher’s box. He shielded his eyes against the sun and caught sight of his parents, seated near Professor McGonagall, waving at him. He did not see Remus nor Sirius. He was, though, glad his parents weren’t sitting with Hermione. He didn’t want her to say anything that might force him to forfeit the match.

“Captains, shake hands,” Madam Hooch said, pulling Harry out of his worry. He turned to face the Slytherin Captain, Urquhart. They shared a crushing handshake.

“Mount your brooms,” Hooch said. “On the whistle… three… two… one…!”

The frosted grass snapped beneath Harry’s boots as he kicked up and into the air. The Quaffle went upwards, too, and within seconds it was in Urquhart’s hands. Harry, for his part, soared towards the edge of the pitch, where he could keep an eye out for the Snitch, away from the chaos of the match. It also was helpful as Captain to get an eye of his team. His Chasers were right on Urquhart’s tail, flying in perfect sync. It was hard to pull himself away from watching them to keep an eye out for the Snitch, but he forced himself to.

The replacement Slytherin Seeker, Harper, was low to the ground, zipping across the pitch. Harry pulled himself higher, hoping that in the bright, clear day he would see the sunlight reflecting off the tiny Snitch.

“Well, there they go,” the announcer’s voice filled the stadium, “and I think we’re all surprised to see the team that Potter’s put together this year. Many thought, given Ronald Weasley’s patchy performance as Keeper last year, that he might be off the team, but of course, a close personal friendship with the captain does help.”

As the Slytherin side of the stadium reacted to this inciting statement, Harry looked for the commentator’s box. Lee Jordan, who had held the position for Harry’s previous five years on the Quidditch team had finished at Hogwarts last year. Instead, Harry saw an unfortunately familiar, skinny, obnoxious Hufflepuff in the commentator’s box. Zacharias Smith, who had been a member of the D.A., was providing the play-by-play of the match. His criticism of Harry’s leadership abilities, it seemed, extended not just to illegal Defense lessons, but to Quidditch as well.

“Oh, and here comes Slytherin’s first attempt at goal,” Smith said, as Urquhart drew close with the Quaffle. “It’s Urquhart streaking down the pitch and —”

Harry couldn’t watch.

“— Weasley saves it! Well, he’s bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose.”

Harry grinned, glad to hear Smith playing right into his plan. This game was going to go well. He could feel it.

And it did. As surely as if Ron had taken Felix Felicis, he saved every goal. Gryffindor had not shut Slytherin out in years, but they did it in this game. Ron did it.

And the Chasers played flawlessly. They passed the Quaffle with ease, and the few Bludgers that did get through Coote and Peakes, they took in stride, and did not break formation. Harry had to begrudgingly admit that Dean and Ginny made a good team. Even Zacharias Smith, who could no longer pick on Ron, and could not move onto Ginny, who not only had an excellent Bat-Bogey Hex she was not afraid to use on him, but had scored four of Gryffindor’s six goals, had to admit Harry’s team was doing well.

“Of course, Coote isn’t really built for a Beater,” Zacharias Smith said, deciding that if he couldn’t criticize the Keeper or the Chasers, he may as well start in on the Beaters. “They’ve generally got a bit more muscle.”

Harry zipped past Coote and said, “Hit a Bludger at him!” but Coote just grinned and sent his Bludger sailing at Urquhart, who took the hit soundly, and fumbled the Quaffle. Ginny was there to scoop it up and score as surely as if Urquhart had announced he was passing it to her.

As Ron made another save with just the tips of his fingers, the Gryffindor side of the stadium roared with approval and began a chorus of “Weasley Is Our King.” Ron threw the Quaffle to Demelza Robbins and waved gratefully to the crowd.

“Thinks he’s something special today, does he?” Harper sneered, and rammed against Harry, then darted towards the other side of the pitch.

While Seeker-smashing was not legal, Hooch’s back was turned, so Harry thought he’d take the opportunity to return the favor. He rubbed his shoulder and shot after Harper.

“And I think Harper’s seen the Snitch!” Smith announced. “Yes, he’s certainly seen something Potter hasn’t!”

Harry grunted, unable to comprehend Smith’s stupidity. Had he, too, missed the crash-and-dash, like Hooch? But he saw the glitter of gold ahead and his stomach sank. No, Harry had been too busy watching the game to remember to keep an eye out for the Snitch. Gryffindor was only up a hundred points. If Smith got the Snitch now, the hard work of Harry and his team was all for naught.

Harry accelerated, but he knew he could not catch up with Harper. Harper had too much of a head start. His hit had been intentional, knowing that he couldn’t outdo the Firebolt and Harry’s flying unless Harry got off to a slow start. But Harry was not about to let this be the end — not after Ron had played so well, not after Harry had even let go of his jealousy to let Dean Thomas on the team.

“Oi! Harper!” Harry shouted over the wind. “How much did Malfoy pay you to come on instead of him?”

It was a desperate attempt, a shot in the dark, but it worked with incredible success. As Harper glanced back in shock, the Snitch slid through his fingers. He was unable to bank and turn back around by the time Harry had reached the Snitch. He clutched his gloved hand around it and the whistle that marked the end of the game sounded throughout the stadium.

Two hundred and fifty to zero. It was Gryffindor’s best game since Harry had joined the team. He held the Snitch high above his head as he sank to the ground, cheers abounding from the Gryffindor side of the stadium. Harry grinned up at his parents, who were the loudest cheerers in the professor’s box, right beside the commentator’s box. A streak of red flew past them and into the commentator’s box.

“Miss Weasley!” Professor McGonagall’s voice carried across the pitch.

“Sorry, Professor!” Ginny shouted over her shoulder. She was already heading back down to the pitch, not nearly as bruised as Zacharias Smith had to be. “I forgot to brake!” And then she was landing on the pitch and pulled Harry into a hug. It was a brief victory hug, and she quickly moved on to give Dean a longer hug, but Harry stored the memory of the moment somewhere in the darkest corners of his mind to ruminate on later. Now was not the time. Now was a time for celebration.

He clapped Ron on the shoulder and then the pitch was full of a mob of Gryffindors, all cheering for their team.

“Celebration in the common room!” Seamus shouted at Harry, any bitterness between them long forgotten. Harry grinned and waved in acknowledgement. Several more Gryffindor students, and notably Luna Lovegood with her roaring lion’s hat, shook Ron’s hand and clapped Harry on the shoulder. Finally, Harry and Ron managed to extricate themselves and get to the changing room.

Ginny, Dean, Demelza, Jimmy, and Ritchie had already hurried to change and get to the party, it seemed, so Harry and Ron were alone.

It was just as well, because Hermione forced her way in. Fortunately, Harry and Ron had already pulled on their trousers.

Ron still had his shirt in his hands though, and he hastily pulled it over his head.

“I want a word with you, Harry,” Hermione said, twisting her scarf in her hands. “You shouldn’t have done it. You heard what Slughorn said. It’s illegal.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Ron. “Turn us in?”

“I’ll tell your parents, Harry! You know I will!”

Harry turned around to hang his robes and to hide his smile. “What are you two talking about?”

“You know perfectly well what we’re talking about! You spiked Ron’s pumpkin juice at breakfast! With Felix Felicis!”

Harry pulled on his jacket and turned to face her with a raised eyebrow and a thinly concealed grin. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes you did, Harry! That’s why everything went right. There were Slytherin players missing and Ron saved everything!”

Harry slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out the small, glittering gold vial, wax seal still intact. “I didn’t put it in.” He turned to Ron. “I wanted you to think I’d done it, so I waited until Hermione was looking to fake it. You saved everything because you felt lucky. You did it all yourself.”

Ron blinked as Harry returned the potion to his pocket.

“There really wasn’t anything in my pumpkin juice? But — the weather’s good. And Vaisey couldn’t play. I honestly haven’t been given a lucky potion?”

Harry shook his head. Ron had always been a good player; he had just needed a confidence boost. Harry was glad he had been able to give it to him.

Then Ron rounded on Hermione and Harry felt all his hard work crumble beneath the three of them.

“ _You added Felix Felicis to Ron’s juice this morning! That’s why he saved everything!_ ” Ron mimicked in a cruelly shrill voice. “See,” he said, “I can save goals without help, Hermione!”

Hermione blinked back tears. “I never said you couldn’t, Ron — You thought you’d been given it, too!”

But Ron was already walking past her, uninterested in her defense. The door to the changing room slammed shut behind him.

Harry searched for words of comfort, unsure why everything had gone so wrong. He’d expected Ron’s success to improve Ron and Hermione’s relationship. He’d thought if Ron got his confidence back, he could go back to the brief politeness that Ron and Hermione had shared.

“Er…” He struggled for something reasonable and came up empty. “Shall we go up to the party, then?”

“Oh, you go!” Hermione wiped a tear from the corner of her eye that threatened to spill out. “I’m sick of Ron at the moment, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done!”

She stormed out after Ron. Harry wished he had words of comfort for her, but he was not sure how to tell her that what she had done was kiss Viktor Krum. It sounded unreasonable, even to him, who had been there to see Ron’s temper.

Harry headed out of the changing room, head down, lost in thought and walked right past his parents.

“Hey — Snitch!”

He looked back to see that his parents had been waiting for him along the path back to the castle. In the wake of everything with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, he had forgotten how excited he was to see them. That excitement boiled up into a laugh despite his troubles, and he doubled back down the path to hug them both.

“Great game,” James said.

“Better than any your father played,” Lily said, and kissed his forehead.

“That’s unfair; I wasn’t a Seeker! It’s not comparable.” But James was laughing as he protested Lily’s jab.

Harry took a moment to take in his father’s smile. It seemed that there had been so few of them this summer. It was nice to have this moment, to have joy in something simple.

“I missed you at breakfast,” Harry said.

“We tried to get here earlier,” Lily said, “but we were helping Frank and Alice — will you tell Neville they said hello?”

“Sure. Everything alright?”

“It is now,” James said. “We had a run-in with Bellatrix Lestrange and Travers late last night —”

“Early this morning,” Lily corrected.

“Right. Everyone’s fine now, though. Worked out okay. Lestrange got away, but we got Travers. I expect you’ll see it in the papers, and I expect we won’t be mentioned.”

Harry looked his parents over and did not see any additional scars or new wounds. They looked as they always did; they looked even better than they had during the summer holidays. 

“Er — no Remus and Sirius?” Harry asked.

“Sirius is still north, I’m afraid,” said Lily. She took Harry’s hand and James’s hand and started up the path. “We haven’t heard from him for a few weeks…”

“But there’s good news,” James said hurriedly. “Remus has agreed to come home and take his potion and he’s got his wand with him, so he can Apparate safely when he needs to. He’ll be home on Monday for his first dose.”

“That is good news,” Harry said, though it did not erase his fears about Sirius.

“Is everything alright with Hermione?” Lily asked. “She looked terribly upset when she passed by.”

Harry told them about Ron’s fight with Ginny. He left out his own jealousy, still afraid to put words to it. He was not yet ready to admit to his parents he liked Ron’s sister, a girl he’d grown up knowing, a girl his parents knew fairly well. He wondered if they knew anyway.

“Ron will grow up,” James said confidently. “And Hermione’ll learn to be more honest with her feelings.”

“How do you know?” Harry asked.

“Because we had to learn that,” Lily said.

“But why do I have to suffer in the middle of it?” Harry grumbled.

James laughed. “Remus, I believe, was stuck between Lily and I. Maybe you can talk to him tomorrow night, if he stays long enough. Somehow, Sirius always seemed to prefer it when we fought.”

“Sirius was just used to us fighting. He understood us better when we were angry with each other than when we got along,” Lily corrected. She squeezed Harry’s hand. “We heard about Katie Bell. Are you doing alright?”

“Me? I’m not the one in St. Mungo’s.”

“Your mum and I read Tonks’ Auror report,” said James. “We know you were there.”

“I’m alright. It was… scary. But I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.”

“And how are lessons?” Lily asked.

“Fine,” Harry said readily, eager for a change in subject. He considered telling them about Dumbledore’s lessons, but decided that there wasn’t time for that conversation. “Snape’s terrible, as usual. It might be the first year I fail Defense.”

“Impossible,” James said. “It’s your best subject. You came along excellently as a duelist this summer.”

“You didn’t teach me nonverbal spells!”

James frowned. “Nonverbals already?”

“I started nonverbals with my fifth years,” Lily said as they reached the castle. “I didn’t expect them to master it, but most professors expect it by sixth year. You’ll get the hang of it, Harry. It’s just focus and practice. I’d say let’s have a practice duel now, but you’ve got a party to attend.”

Harry wondered if the atmosphere of a party would encourage Ron and Hermione to make up. He thought it unlikely.

“What if I didn’t go?”

“You’re the captain!” James protested. “You have to be there.”

Reluctantly, Harry hugged his parents goodbye and trudged upstairs to the Gryffindor common room. He took the long way there, rather than the usual shortcut. It gave him time to sort through his worries about Sirius and the few secrets he had chosen to keep from his parents. It was hypocritical of him, wasn’t it, after so many years of begging them to be honest? They’d shared the truth of why they were late so easily. They’d been honest about where Sirius was, about what was going on with Remus. Surely Harry owed them honesty in return.

There was just a month left until Christmas, Harry told himself as he gave the Fat Lady the password, and he would tell them everything then, when there was time to discuss it all. When there was time to be worried.

A resounding cheer filled the common room as Harry entered. Several people asked him where he’d been and he smiled and gave them non-answers. He didn’t see Hermione anywhere, but it was hard to make out anyone past the Creevey brothers, Colin and Dennis, who demanded a blow-by-blow account of the match. He’d only just managed to get away when a group of fourth-year girls got between him and the drinks table. He remembered Romilda Vane from the train ride, and she was heavily hinting that she wanted to attend Slughorn’s Christmas party with him. He wondered how she’d even heard about it.

He managed to slip away from her and right into Ginny. She sloshed the two drinks in her hands all down the front of hers and Harry’s clothes.

“Sorry —”

“S’alright,” Harry said, and avoided looking at her as he used his wand to Vanish the spill and clean up their clothes. Her cat, Puck, was slipping between her ankles and clawing at her leggings, trying to get at the Pygmy Puff on her shoulder.

“Were you looking for Ron?” she asked, and he finally looked up at her. 

“What?”

“He’s over there,” she grinned and pointed, “the filthy hypocrite.”

He followed her finger to a corner of the common room where Ron and Lavender were entangled in each other, snogging at least as passionately as Dean and Ginny had been, but in sight of everyone in the common room, rather than a hidden corridor.

“It looks like he’s eating her face, doesn’t it?” Ginny said casually as she refilled her two drinks. “But I suppose he’s got to refine his technique somehow. Good game, Harry.” She knocked her elbow against his side in congratulations, and even just that small gesture sent Harry’s stomach plummeting.

He looked away as she returned to Dean with their drinks, but knew he could find no solace in Ron, who it seemed would not likely be leaving Lavender soon. He was just about to look for Hermione when he thought he caught her leaving the common room. His stomach sunk again, with a much less pleasant sensation.

Harry barely managed to evade Romilda Vane and the Creevey brothers a second time and hurried into the corridor.

“Hermione?” he called, but the corridor was empty. He tried the nearest unused classroom and found her sitting alone on one of the desks. She had her wand out, and a flurry of yellow canaries circling her head. They’d only just learned the charm in Transfiguration that week, and Harry was impressed she was able to conjure it now, as distraught as she looked.

“Oh — hello, Harry,” she said, and though she smiled at him, her voice cracked. “I was just practicing.”

“Yeah — er — they’re really good.” He wasn’t sure what to say, exactly, but he knew he would rather be here than in the common room at the moment, so he sat on the desk next to her and watched the yellow birds flitting over their heads.

She was quiet for a long moment, so long Harry wondered if perhaps she had not seen Ron and Lavender after all. But then she said, “Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations,” and a sniff at the end of her statement told Harry all he needed to know without seeing the tears on her cheeks.

“Er… does he?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t see him. He wasn’t exactly hiding it was he?”

Harry struggled to find an answer, and was saved by perhaps the most unfortunate event. He thought Voldemort intruding on his and Hermione’s private conversation would have been better than Ron throwing open the door and dragging Lavender in by the hand.

“Oh,” he said, which Harry thought particularly ineloquent of him, not that Ron was the most eloquent of his friends.

“Oops.” Lavender giggled, and tried to tug Ron out of the room. It seemed she had nothing more eloquent to say herself, and slipped out of the room. “Come on, Ron,” she called, but Ron seemed rooted in the doorway.

“Hi, Harry,” Ron said, with an uncomfortable and overly friendly smile. “I wondered where you’d got to.”

Harry found himself at as much a loss for words as he had been for Hermione.

Hermione, however, was never at a loss for words. “You shouldn’t keep Lavender waiting outside,” she said, in the same brittle tone she’d greeted Harry with. “She’ll wonder where you’ve gone.”

“Er — Right.” This did not seem to be the response Ron had been prepared for, and he looked relieved that it was nothing worse.

Harry wished it had been something worse. Harry wished Hermione had gotten angry with Ron, then maybe Ron would give up whatever this was with Lavender and things could iron themselves out.

But Ron did not move, and it seemed that Hermione’s temper was only thinly restrained. “ _Oppugno!_ ” she said, and the flock of yellow canaries that had been circling the room dive-bombed Ron, pecking and scratching, until Ron finally left the room, and they scratched at the door until they disappeared in a puff of yellow feathers.

Hermione choked on a sob. Harry decided words were useless anyway, and wrapped his arm around her.

“I’m sorry, Harry.” She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. “I’m ruining your party.”

“I didn’t want to go anyway,” he admitted.

“Because of Ginny?” She pulled herself out of his arms and he let her pull herself together. He knew Hermione well enough to know that as much as he was trying to comfort her, he was probably embarrassing her more than anything else. She didn’t show her vulnerable feelings to many people.

“And other things,” Harry said.

Something tapped at the glass window panes, and for a moment, Harry thought Hermione had managed to create the canaries again. But when he looked, he saw Hedwig trying to get in.

Harry hurried to let his owl into the classroom. She dropped a scroll into his hand and hooted at him. Harry fished in his pocket for a treat, but came up empty.

“I’ll get you something back in the dormitory.” He rubbed her cheek with his finger, and she bit him irritably, but she didn’t fly off.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, still drying her cheeks with the sleeve of her jumper, and Harry thought she was eager for a distraction.

“It’s a letter,” he said.

“Don’t be stupid.”

Harry broke the seal and unrolled the rather lengthy piece of parchment.

“It’s from Cedric.”

“You’re writing to Cedric Diggory?”

“I told him about my lessons with Dumbledore.”

“Does he know about the prophecy, too?”

“Yeah — it felt right to tell him. He was there for all of it, all the duels with Voldemort, I mean.”

Hermione held her hand out for the letter and Harry, with a mischievous smile, handed her the blank parchment.

She looked at the front and the back and frowned. She dropped it on the table and said, “ _Specialis Revelio_ ,” but the paper refused to give up its secrets. She frowned, and Harry thought a puzzle was the best distraction he could have offered Hermione. She pointed her wand at the desk and a blue flame ignited on the corner of it.

“Whoa — Hermione —” Harry snatched the letter back from her.

“I wasn’t going to burn it! I thought that heat might reveal the letters!”

“What? Heat?”

“It’s a Muggle trick!”

“Muggles have invisible ink?”

“Yes, they do. I thought you liked James Bond films?”

Harry could not recall invisible ink being used in any of the Bond films Sirius had taken him to see. “Well it’s not Muggle ink. Fred and George had it made for us.”

“Let’s see it then.”

Harry suddenly felt very uncomfortable sharing this secret between him and Cedric, this secret he had not shared with anyone else. But he did not see how he could reasonably tell Hermione that he didn’t want to tell her. So he said the revealing half of the incantation.

“ _With the Snitch up ahead and the wind in my hair._ ”

The ink curled out from the center of each word, slowly filling both sides of the parchment with Cedric’s words.

“Oh!” Hermione said. “That’s a helpful charm. Did you and Cedric choose the incantation?”

“Yeah — something we’d both remember.”

“Well, what did he say?”

“Well, I don’t know Hermione, I haven’t read it yet.”

_Harry —_

_I’m sorry I wasn’t able to write sooner. Things haven’t been well at the Ministry. I don’t know exactly what they’re reporting in the_ Prophet _, but if it’s half as bad as things are, it’s a wonder the entire Wizarding World isn’t in a panic. I know they reported on Stan Shunpike’s arrest, whatever good that’s doing. Probably because we’ve let so many others slip through our fingers. I haven’t managed to be involved in much of the action, but I heard Proudfoot and Savage — Aurors — got into a duel with a pair of Death Eaters in Knockturn Alley. They survived, but the Death Eaters got away. A couple of shops in Knockturn Alley decided to close their doors because of it. Williamson and I have been tasked with making sure the people who leave their shops aren’t doing it because they’re being threatened, or worse, they’re missing. And just last night, the Longbottoms got into it with Bellatrix Lestrange and Travers. I heard your parents were there, too. I can tell you some of the Ministry was not happy to hear that, but they got Travers out of it, so they couldn’t really complain._

_I heard from Tonks about what happened at Hogwarts. I’m glad you’re alright. It sounds like the Healers are optimistic about Katie, too. I didn’t know her too well at Hogwarts, but I remember she was an excellent Chaser, and a really good duelist. She and Alicia did not have the patience for Umbridge. Their snide remarks were encouraging._

_From what Tonks said, it sounded like you were part of the reason Katie was able to get help so quickly, and it may have saved her life. I know what you mean about feeling helpless, but I hope you know you weren’t. You took action quickly, and you helped in a way that got Katie in the hands of people who could counter the curse, and that’s not something everyone knows how to do._

_If you were hoping for more answers about who cursed Katie, I’m afraid we don’t know any more than Dumbledore. I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you, but I thought it worth letting you know. It’s interesting that you think Draco Malfoy is the one who cursed Katie. I can’t believe that a student would be able to pull off something like that without Dumbledore knowing about it. I know Malfoy Manor’s had its fair share of raids, too. With Lucius Malfoy’s arrest, they’ve had a lot of Aurors go through their house, looking for dark artefacts. It’s hard for me to believe that they’ve managed to keep anything hidden, but maybe they did. Maybe Mad-Eye should go through their house with that magical eye of his._

_Katie’s curse aside, Draco Malfoy having the Dark Mark is a serious accusation. From what the Ministry has come to understand, it’s a mark reserved only for those most intimate in Voldemort’s organization. Certain Death Eaters have had it, but there are plenty of Dark Wizards who follow him who aren’t marked. For Voldemort to choose Draco Malfoy to be in his intimate circle seems like a stretch. I’ll keep it in mind, though I don’t know what good I’ll do with the knowledge. You’re the one who’s closest to Draco Malfoy right now._

_As for your lesson with Dumbledore, you’re right, there isn’t much I can learn about Tom Riddle’s history just knowing he was born at some orphanage in London. It must have been unnerving to see Voldemort as a child, though. I can’t imagine what it must be like for people like McGonagall and Dumbledore, who got to see him grow up._

_A lot of the things you pointed out about Voldemort — his secrecy and isolation — make sense. They’re definitely things that help us understand him better, and with any luck will help us catch him faster. I can’t help you with the collected items. I have no idea why Dumbledore would think that was important. Was he using them for a spell? I know he was just a child, but you did mention he had a strong grasp on magic, even before attending Hogwarts._

_I couldn’t find much on Tom Riddle himself. It seems he was awarded for special services to Hogwarts at some point during his time there, but that was stripped recently, and I couldn’t find any further information on it. I’m sorry I’m not much help this time, Harry._

_I’m writing this at Grimmauld Place, which seems to have become the only place in my life with any peace and quiet, and Sirius and Emmeline Vance just walked in. They’re fine, and I expect they’ll have a proper report ready for the Order shortly, otherwise I’d tell you everything now. He says to tell you hello, and that he’s sorry he missed your Quidditch game. I hope it went well. It’s your first game as Captain isn’t it? Captain is stressful. I don’t miss it, though I do miss playing. I hope you had fun, whether you win or lost, though I guess against Slytherin there’s only one option, isn’t there?_

_Stay alert, Harry. And stay safe._

_— Cedric_

When Harry had finished reading, he handed it to Hermione. He was glad to know that Sirius was back from whatever his mission had been, and he hoped that Sirius would stick around until Christmas. The full moon fell on Christmas Eve this year, and it would be nice to have everyone home for the holiday. Harry hadn’t had a proper Christmas at home for a few years. He hoped this one worked out.

While he wished Cedric had been able to tell him more about Malfoy and Riddle, he hadn’t expected much. He hoped that he would have another lesson with Dumbledore soon, but it seemed unlikely it would happen before the holidays.

“What did Cedric tell you in his last letter?” Hermione asked.

Harry had forgotten how quickly she could read. He took the letter back and hid the ink again. While he folded the parchment up and put it in his pocket, he told her what Cedric had told him about the Gaunt family, how Marvolo Gaunt and Morfin Gaunt had been arrested, and Morfin had eventually been arrested for murdering the Riddle family.

“Why didn’t you tell us any of this?”

Harry shrugged. “It was interesting, but it didn’t tell me anything about Voldemort, really.” He’d also felt like his letters to Cedric were something to be kept secret. He hadn’t wanted to share them with anyone. The only reason Hermione knew about them now was because she’d been upset when Hedwig arrived. At least it had cheered her up. And at least Ron didn’t know. Harry had a feeling that Ron might rib him for having secret letters with Cedric that were sealed with a couplet.

“It’s odd, though, isn’t it? That Morfin Gaunt murdered them all those years later. And why wouldn’t Dumbledore tell you about that? Voldemort’s father being murdered by his uncle seems like an important detail.”

“Why’d he tell me all about Tom Riddle collecting things as a kid? What Dumbledore thinks is important isn’t what we think is important. I guess when we’re a hundred-and-eighty-five, we’ll understand it, too.”

This made Hermione laugh, and Harry thought that even though the party itself had been terrible, and his plan to get Ron back in a good mood had backfired, he could at least count this part of his day as a win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated.


	15. The Unbreakable Vow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry puts his well-practiced skill of eavesdropping to good use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How is it that April is almost over, and yet each week feels like an eternity? It's finally warming up in Los Angeles after a month of rain and I got to sit poolside, racking up that vitamin D.
> 
> If you haven't joined the [HP:ELAU discord](https://discord.gg/g9Fnx8S), you should. We've been talking about Hogwarts Mystery and sharing memes this week and it's been a blast.

The first Quidditch match of the year also marked the beginning of the run up to Christmas. After an intensive rivalry game, the castle always transformed into a festive collection of evergreen trees and baubles. It seemed to Harry that there was more mistletoe hung in the corridors than in previous years. Or perhaps it only appeared that way because each time he walked by, a cluster of girls was there, waiting. Luckily, he knew enough of the castle’s secret passages to avoid these traps.

Ron was traditionally jealous of the attention Harry received, and under other circumstances he might have been annoyed at the number of detours they had to take to navigate the castle. However, this year, Ron found it all highly amusing. Perhaps because Ron had his own source of constant attention from Lavender Brown, he did not have reason to be jealous of Harry. 

For Harry’s part, he could do without Lavender Brown being attached to Ron during meal times and in the common room in the evening. He preferred to eat his dinner and finish his homework without the unfortunate sounds that accompanied the manic kissing that took place between the two of them. Their intense passion did, however, mean that it was not so difficult to slip away and spend time with Hermione. She was, unsurprisingly, not speaking to Ron.

Harry, as Ron’s best friend, found it difficult to maintain his two friendships. He had to listen to Ron, on one hand, justify his relationship to Lavender at each turn. “I never promised Hermione anything,” he said as they studied in the common room. “I mean, alright, we were going to Slughorn’s Christmas party, but as friends — she never said… I’m a free agent.”

And Harry, in the interest of keeping Ron as a friend, said nothing.

When Lavender came by for her nightly ritual of entangling herself in Ron’s arms, Harry slipped down to the library, where he would often find Hermione. There, he could listen to Hermione justify her definite lack of jealousy. “He’s at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes. I couldn’t care less.”

And in the interest of keeping Hermione as a friend, Harry kept his mouth shut. It seemed that the only friend he could really talk to anymore was Neville.

When Harry had told his parents he did not want to be stuck between Hermione and Ron, he had not expected it to be this bad.

As the Christmas holidays, and thus the full moon, drew near, Harry was glad to have the mirror to talk to Remus. It helped to have someone who actually understood. Neville could only partially commiserate, as he avoided Ron as often as possible these days, but Remus knew what Harry was going through. Harry also learned quite a bit about his parents during their time with Hogwarts, and he was particularly surprised to hear that their fights and make-ups were often very public common room events. He was not surprised to learn that Sirius and Peter had coordinated an entire betting pool based on these fights.

“You didn’t stop them as Prefect? Wasn’t Dad Head Boy? Shouldn’t he have done something?”

Remus laughed. “I’m not sure James knew. And, well, I’ve never been able to tell Sirius that he couldn’t do something. He even had an illegal butterbeer trade going on for a while. For someone who was able to turn such a profit in school, he certainly squanders money quickly.”

Harry leaned back into the pillows of his dormitory bed. Hermione may have hated it, but Harry found that _Muffliato_ allowed him to be much more comfortable when talking to his parents through the mirror, rather than having to hide in the bathroom and hope that the bath water would muffle his conversation.

“Are… are you and Sirius talking again?” Harry asked tentatively.

Remus’s smile vanished and the colour seemed to drain from his face. “Er — no. I’m afraid Sirius and I have nothing new to say to each other. Ah — looks like your mother’s finished the potion. Let me pass you off to James.”

Harry had never seen Remus so eager for such bitter medicine.

Once the awkwardness of being carried from one room to another had settled, and Harry had a view of his father’s forehead, he said, “He didn’t look mad at Sirius, but he said that they still aren’t talking.”

“No, I don’t think Remus is angry anymore,” James agreed, and adjusted the mirror so his face was in the center. “His transformations have actually been better since Sirius got back, if only because it gives your mum an extra hand with the healing charms.”

“She did it all on her own before?”

“Sort of. She asked Nympha — er, Tonks to help with the full moon just before Halloween. I don’t know what went wrong, exactly, but Tonks made it clear to your mum that she was happy to help with potions if necessary, but she wasn’t going to stick around for any more sunrises. She wouldn’t say why, but I imagine she and Remus had a fight.”

“Have Remus’ transformations been bad?”

“September and October were… not very much fun for anyone involved.” James ran a hand through his hair, and though his eyes were distant, he smiled at Harry. “Don’t worry. November was much better; your mother’s got it well in hand. And with Sirius back, he’ll be able to help your mother with healing charms, though I doubt we’ll need many of them. I’m sure you can give her a hand too.”

Harry didn’t know how much help he could be, but he was glad that his father seemed to think he’d be useful. “So we’re spending Christmas at home this year?”

“That’s the plan. It’s hard to know what the Order will need from us, but we’ll certainly be here Christmas Eve for the full moon, and we’ll have a leisurely Christmas Day to recover. Speaking of Christmas, your mum mentioned last night that you’re going to one of Slughorn’s parties. Is that right?”

“Yeah, he asked Hermione to make sure I could be there. I really don’t want to be.”

“Your mum didn’t care much for the Slug Club in her day, either. Slughorn was alright, but most of the club was purebloods, and she never felt welcome with them. I hope things have changed for Hermione’s sake.”

“Hermione says she has a good time. You and Remus weren’t ever invited?”

“Remus was too quiet and not good enough in Potions to attract Slughorn’s attention. Sirius and I did, but we always had better things to do than sit in a stuffy room with a stuffy professor. But you’ll have other friends there, won’t you?”

“I suppose — Ginny’s taking Dean. And I asked Hermione if we could go together as friends, but she’s said she’s got someone already. She said I’d better pick someone quickly, or someone’s going to slip me a love potion.”

“Love potions are a dangerous business. They’re not just silly tricks. Be careful. When I was Head Boy I confiscated quite a few.”

Harry eyed the chocolates on the end of his bed that Romilda Vane had handed to him on his way upstairs that evening. He hadn’t planned to open them, but now he thought it might be worth setting them on fire before he fell asleep tonight.

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye on my pumpkin juice,” he said. “Apparently love potions are a popular Weasley product.”

James frowned. “I wonder if they’re effective? I’ll have to talk to them about it…. It’s not right to take away someone’s self-control like that. Headless Hats and Puking Pastilles are one thing, but love potions….”

Harry recalled Dumbledore’s theory that Voldemort had been conceived under the use of a love potion and agreed with his father’s distaste for them, but he still hadn’t told them about his lessons yet, so he bit the comment back and simply said, “I promise I’ll be careful.”

“Take a friend with you, Harry. One friend at a party can make all the difference between merriment and misery.”

“Sure. I’ll just ask Neville in the morning.”

“Why not?”

Harry did not think that Neville would enjoy being asked, nor that asking Neville would curtail the love potion problem, but he didn’t voice his reasons to his father. Instead, he only rolled his eyes. “Good night, Dad. Tell Mum hello from me. Best not to interrupt her while she’s making Remus’s potion.”

“You just don’t want her to tease you about not having someone for the party.”

“You’re the one teasing me.”

“Only because I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad. And Mum. And Remus. And Sirius if you see him.”

“I’ll pass it along. Sleep well, Harry. Sweet dreams.”

“Thanks. You too.”

As Harry tucked the mirror into his bedside table and ended the spell that muffled his conversation, he knew that he would be able to at least partially comply with his father’s wishes. He would not dream of Voldemort, and hadn’t for the last month. Which was excellent, because he was absolutely terrible at Occlumency. 

Though his dreams would not be about Voldemort, they would be vivid enough. Luckily, Ron was no better at Legilimency than Harry was at Occlumency, so he had no way to know just what or who Harry had begun dreaming about. Harry was not sure he would survive to see Slughorn’s Christmas party otherwise.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

The day of Slughorn’s Christmas party did not bring Harry any reasons for optimism. They were working on human Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. Harry had found much of the theory familiar, after a summer of learning healing charms with Sirius. They had not, however, spent any time on changing colour. There wasn’t much use for altering hair colour in healing magic.

So while Hermione had managed to give herself eyebrow variations that rivaled a rainbow, Harry was stuck with one blonde eyebrow, and was struggling to understand why his left was so particularly stubborn. Ron, for his part, accidentally Conjured an enormous handlebar mustache. As funny as it was, Hermione’s laughter was sharper than the class’s general laughter. Ron, to the amusement of Lavender and Parvati, mimicked Hermione’s over-enthusiasm to answer each of McGonagall’s questions. He was careful to only raise his hand and bounce in his seat when McGonagall was not looking, so their professor was unable to sort out why the girls were giggling so enthusiastically. Harry imagined that McGonagall was smart enough to suss out some of what had happened when the bell rang and Hermione ran from the classroom. She had grabbed her pencil case and book, but Harry picked up her parchment, ink, and bag and hurried after her. Ron had all the support he needed in Lavender and Parvati.

Harry used the Marauder's Map, which he now kept with him at all times beside his Invisibility Cloak, and found her in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. It was one most people avoided, and allowed those who needed a good cry an excuse if they were overheard. It was also nice for Harry, who did not feel so terribly uncomfortable walking into a girls’ bathroom as long as it was the one frequented by Moaning Myrtle.

Luna Lovegood was there with Hermione, patting her on the back.

“Oh, hello, Harry,” she said. “Did you know one of your eyebrows is bright yellow?”

Harry had forgotten, and dismissed the reminder as unimportant. “Hi, Luna. Hermione, you left your stuff….”

Hermione turned away from him, and Harry awkwardly turned as well. One night of her crying in front of him had already been too much for her pride. He could allow her this privacy.

Once she’d finished drying her eyes on her pencil case, she took her things from Harry. He’d hardly opened his mouth to tell her he’d go when she hurried past him and out of the bathroom.

“She’s a bit upset,” Luna said unnecessarily. “I thought it was Moaning Myrtle in there, but it turned out to be Hermione. She said something about Ron Weasley….”

“Yeah, they’ve had a row.” Actually, “been having a row,” would have been more accurate, but Harry thought that Hermione would prefer discretion, particularly with Luna Lovegood, who held nothing back.

“He says very funny things sometimes, doesn’t he?”

Harry held the door open for Luna and was briefly grateful that there was no one around to see him coming out of the girls’ bathroom with her.

“But he can be a bit unkind,” Luna continued, demonstrating the exact bluntness that made Harry love her, but wary of confiding secrets in her. “I noticed that last year.”

“I s’pose,” he said, maintaining his neutrality in the war between Ron and Hermione as best as he could. “So, have you had a good term?”

“Oh, it’s been alright.” If Luna was surprised by the change in conversation, Harry could not tell. “A bit lonely without the D.A. Ginny’s been nice, though. She stopped two boys in our Transfiguration class calling me ‘Loony’ the other day —”

In an effort to defeat the tightness in Harry’s chest and the turning of his stomach, he blurted out, “How would you like to come to Slughorn’s party with me tonight?”

“Slughorn’s party? With you?”

Harry wished that Luna did not always sound like she was far away. It was hard to tell if the idea bothered her or not, and if it did, he would love to discern whether it was the party that bothered her or the idea of going to a party with him.

“Yeah — We’re supposed to bring guests, so I thought you might like… I mean… just as friends, you know. But if you don’t want to —”

“Oh, no, I’d love to go with you as friends!” She smiled, wider than she had when she’d first cast her Patronus last spring. “Nobody’s ever asked me to a party before, as a friend! Is that why you dyed your eyebrow, for the party? Should I do mine, too?”

“No. That was a mistake. I’ll get Hermione to put it right for me. So, I’ll meet you in the entrance hall at eight o’clock then.”

A scream of laughter echoed overhead. Harry jumped and looked up to see Peeves, the castle’s poltergeist, hanging from the chandelier. “Potty asked Loony to go to the party!” the poltergeist shrieked. “Potty lurves Loony! Potty lurves Loony!” And he was gone, shrieking his chant across the castle.

“Nice to keep these things private,” said Harry. He was used to rumours spreading quickly at Hogwarts, but this one may have set a new record. When he arrived at the Great Hall for dinner, he thought he had never seen the hall go so quiet, not even when Dumbledore gave the start of term speech. The silence, however, did not last long. It dissolved in a flurry of whispers. Romilda Vane, notably, kept casting dirty looks at both Harry and the Ravenclaw table. Another group of girls, who had eagerly invited Harry to sit with them every meal even though he turned them down each time, now refused to look up from their plates as he passed. Harry thought perhaps he should have asked Luna to Slughorn’s party much sooner.

He noticed Hermione sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table, alone, and started towards her, but he was accosted by Ron, who sat him down and looked at him as seriously as if Harry had decided to quit Quidditch.

“You could’ve taken anyone,” he said. “Anyone! And you chose Loony Lovegood?”

“Don’t call her that, Ron,” a voice behind Harry snapped. He did not need to turn around to know it was Ginny. In fact, he did not want to turn around.

“I’m really glad you’re taking her, Harry,” Ginny continued. “She’s so excited.” And then Ginny was gone, joining Dean farther down the table.

Harry was not as pleased as Ginny, and not particularly pleased that Ginny was pleased. He had sort of hoped that she’d be annoyed. Not that he had invited Luna in order to make Ginny jealous, but he would not have complained if it had been a side effect.

Harry tore his eyes away from Hermione to find Ron staring in the same direction.

“You could say sorry,” he said, taking a page from Luna on being direct.

“What, and get attacked by another flock of canaries?” Ron hastily shoved a bite of stew into his mouth.

“What did you have to imitate her for?”

“She laughed at my mustache!”

“So did I; it was the stupidest thing I’d ever seen.”

This comment went unheard by Ron, who was distracted by Lavender squeezing her way in between Harry and Ron. She did not need all that much room; she mostly sat on Ron’s lap, which Harry thought to be a bold move in full view of the Professors’ table. He weighed the satisfaction of alerting Snape to the unfortunate sounds he now had to eat dinner next to against the betrayal that Ron would feel. It was not a hard decision, in the end. Harry did not have to share a dormitory with Snape.

Parvati slipped into the seat beside Harry and smiled apologetically. He wondered if she was as annoyed by her best friend’s behavior as Harry was by his.

“Hi, Harry,” she said.

“Hi. You alright? I heard from Hermione that you and your sister might be leaving Hogwarts.” 

“Oh — I managed to talk them out of it for the time being. The Katie thing really freaked them out.”

Harry imagined his parents were worried too, but it had to be safer here than out there. “Hogwarts is probably safest, despite that.”

“Yes, they admitted that Dumbledore and the Ministry probably have better protection than home might. And anyway, it wasn’t as if the curse got into the castle. Padma and I are banned from Hogsmeade though — at least, our parents have said not to go.”

Harry thought it was only a matter of time before his delivered the same news. Then again, perhaps since his parents knew that Tonks had been there, they trusted that the Order had it well in hand.

“But at least nothing has happened since then,” Parvati said. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, though he was thinking of the _Daily Prophet_ and all the things that had happened since Katie’s attack, just not at Hogwarts. He didn’t know what else to say to Parvati, but he realised it was possibly the politest conversation they’d had since before the Yule Ball.

Harry searched for some topic of conversation to mask the noises of Lavender and Ron’s public intimacy, and was grateful to be rescued by Hermione.

“Hi Parvati,” she said. “Hi, Harry.” She appeared to be completely recovered, and smiled brightly at the two of them. Perhaps too brightly, considering Parvati had enjoyed Ron’s joke in class, and Ron was currently attached to Lavender like a Flesh-Eating Slug.

“Hi, Hermione,” Parvati smiled. She, too, was a bit overeager in her greeting, perhaps because she had teased Hermione not long ago and wanted it forgotten.

“Are you going to Slughorn’s party tonight?” Hermione asked.

“No invite,” Parvati said. “I’d love to go, though, it sounds like it’s going to be really good…. You’re going, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes. I’m meeting Cormac at eight, and we’re —”

The Flesh-Eating Slug pulled itself off of Lavender’s face with a slurp and a pop. Hermione ignored it.

“— we’re going up to the party together.”

“Cormac?” Parvati said. “Cormac McLaggen, you mean?”

“That’s right. The one who almost became Gryffindor Keeper.”

“Are you going out with him, then?”

“Oh — yes — didn’t you know?” Hermione giggled, something more akin to Parvati or Lavender and not like her at all. 

Parvati stared up at Hermione, eyes wide. “No — Wow, you like your Quidditch players, don’t you? First Krum, then McLaggen — You go through them as fast as Ginny Weasley —”

“I like really good Quidditch players,” Hermione said, before Harry could quite process the comment about Ginny. “Well, see you… Got to go and get ready for the party….”

Lavender seemed to have forgotten all about Ron in the wake of this new gossip, and she quickly leaned over Harry to discuss this new development with Parvati. Ron’s face appeared empty. Either he had not fully resurfaced from Lavender, or he was still processing Hermione’s revenge. Harry, for his part, was divided between wondering who on earth kept repeating something about Ginny Weasley moving through Quidditch players and musing over just how far Hermione would sink for revenge.

Harry arrived in the entrance hall promptly at eight o’clock. He was not wearing the dress robes his great-great grandmother had designed. Instead, he had opted for the simpler red robes he had originally bought in his fourth year. The hem, which had been extended to suit Ron at the Yule Ball, was now just inches too short for Harry, but he had not had any desire to ask Dean for help extending it. When Harry saw Luna waiting, though, he thought they might have made an interesting pair if he had worn the evergreen robes with animated snow drifts.

Luna’s silver robes were glittering with stars, like her earrings. Harry was grateful she had left off the radishes. She reflected the hall’s chandelier as she turned. It was both absurd and dazzling.

More amusing than Luna’s robes, however, were the crowds of girls gathered in the corners and corridors. Some were giggling unkindly at Luna’s appearance. Some were whispering fiercely. All went quiet as Harry met her at the bottom of the steps.

“Hi,” he said. “Shall we get going then?”

“Oh, yes.” She beamed, and Harry could not help but be infected by her excitement, as nervous as the onlookers made him.

“Where is the party?” she asked.

“Slughorn’s office — oh,” he belatedly remembered the manners his mother had drilled into him, “you look nice, by the way.”

“Thank you! You do as well. Ginny’s right; red is a lovely colour on you.”

Harry’s mind seemed to have been struck with a Freezing Charm. As he led Luna up the marble staircase towards Slughorn’s office, he could think of nothing other than Luna’s innocuous statement on a loop, like a broken Muggle record. He was vaguely aware that his silence was rude, but he could think of nothing to say. He thought that if Luna were to ask how he planned to defeat Voldemort right now, he might simply answer, “Ginny thinks I look nice in red.”

When they arrived at Slughorn’s office, the party appeared to already be in full swing. Music and laughter filled the corridor, finally giving Harry something new to think about. He pushed the door open for Luna and together they walked into an office much larger than any teacher’s office Harry had been in before. He wondered if Slughorn had expanded it somehow. It also looked nothing like an office. Green, red, and gold strips of satin draped across the ceiling and down the sides of the room. In the center, a lamp illuminated the office in a dim yellow glow. It did not flicker like candlelight and it took Harry a moment to notice the fairies flitting in and out of it. The music turned out to be a live band, but not any band Harry had heard of. The singer was a woman in an elegant, glittering dress, and the musicians beside her plucked at mandolins.

There were also several clusters of non-students, Harry noted. None of them looked like any Aurors he’d met, so he did not think that they were security. He wondered if it had been troublesome for Slughorn to get his guests access to Hogwarts in these dark times.

Just as Harry caught sight of a house-elf carrying a platter of what looked like miniature chocolate cakes, Slughorn caught him around the shoulder.

“Harry, m’boy! Come in, come in, so many people I’d like you to meet.”

Harry, remembering his father’s advice that one friend could make the difference between an enjoyable time and a miserable time, dragged Luna with him and prayed for the former.

Slughorn led Harry, and Harry in turn led Luna, through the crowd of party guests to two men in dark robes, as different in size and stature as Fabian and Gideon Prewett, standing not far from the singer. 

“Harry,” Slughorn announced, “I’d like you to meet Eldred Worple, an old student of mine, author of _Blood Brothers: My Life Amongst the Vampires_ — and of course, his friend Sanguini.”

The short, round man with glasses and bright red cheeks shook Harry’s hand eagerly.

“Harry Potter! I am simply delighted!”

Harry did his best to smile, and eyed the tall, thin man with waxy skin and long, dark hair. It was easy to see why someone had mistaken Regulus Black for a vampire.

“I was just saying,” Worple continued, “where is the biography of Harry Potter for which we have all been waiting?”

Harry tore his eyes from Sanguini and looked for the joke on Worple’s face. He was disappointed to see nothing but earnestness. “Er — were you?”

“Just as modest as Horace described! But, seriously —” the enthusiasm faded a little, and Worple finally stopped shaking Harry’s hand, “I would be delighted to write it myself — people are craving to know more about you, dear boy, craving! If you were prepared to grant me a few interviews, say in four or five-hour sessions, why, we could have the book finished within months. And all with very little effort on your part, I assure you.”

“Er — all that time?” Harry was not sure he could manage to talk about himself for more than fifteen minutes, let alone for four hours.

“Ask Sanguini here if it isn’t quite — oh — where’s he got off to?”

Harry was quite pleased that Worple had to disappear to keep Sanguini from a pair of witches hanging around the musicians. He found that Slughorn, too, had vanished into the party, and he was grateful to spot a pile of thick dark hair slip between two wizards. He pulled Luna along.

“Hermione — Hermione!”

“Harry, there you are, thank goodness! Hi, Luna!”

They paused to grab goblets of mead from a tray, then tucked themselves into an empty corner of the room. Harry took a moment to actually take in Hermione’s appearance and was surprised to see her dress rumpled and her hair out of place — well, compared to the hours she had put into it for the Yule Ball. It appeared that it had once looked tight and smooth as it had at the ball, but now had started to fall apart. 

“I’ve just escaped — I mean, I’ve just left Cormac under the mistletoe.”

“Why in Merlin’s name did you bring him?” Harry nearly spilled his mead down the front of his robes as he punctuated his question with a more aggressive gesture than he had intended.

“I thought he’d annoy Ron the most,” Hermione said. 

Harry, who disliked McLaggen about half as much as he disliked Draco Malfoy, found this a little rude to McLaggen.

“I debated for a while about Zacharias Smith, but I thought, on the whole —”

“You considered Smith?” Harry had to refrain from retching up his mead. He made the decision that he was no longer tolerating Ron and Hermione’s fight. As soon as the Christmas holiday was over, he was done keeping his mouth shut, and he was going to make sure that they both knew how wrong they were.

“Yes, I did, and I’m starting to wish I’d chosen him. McLaggen makes Grawp look like a gentleman — oh no, here he comes!” and she was gone, disappearing between a pair of witches laughing heartily at something Slughorn had just said.

McLaggen reached Harry and Luna a moment later. “Seen Hermione?” McLaggen asked.

“No, sorry,” Harry said. “Er — have you met Luna Lovegood?”

McLaggen shook Luna’s hand warily. “I didn’t realise you two were… friends.”

“Harry!” Slughorn’s voice boomed. “That’s where you got off to.” His tasseled hat was now sitting askew and his face glowed red, though his glass of mead was full. “I was just telling Severus here what a natural you are at Potions — oh, stop sulking Severus! — Some credit for Harry’s exceptional potion-making must go to you, of course, you taught him for five years!”

Harry felt strangely sympathetic towards Snape, who could not easily break free from Slughorn’s tight arm around his shoulder. 

“Funny,” Snape said, “I never had the impression that I managed to teach Potter anything at all.”

Harry thought, given their dismal Occlumency lessons, he could quite agree with the statement that Snape was a terrible teacher.

“Then it’s natural ability!” Slughorn said. “You should have seen what he gave me, first lesson, Draught of Living Death — never had a student produce a finer on a first attempt. I don’t think even you, Severus —”

“Really?”

Harry focused on Slughorn, and refused to make eye contact with Snape. He did not need Snape uncovering the truth of why he had succeeded in Potions so suddenly. He had a feeling that Snape would not approve.

“Remind me what other subjects you’re taking, Harry?” asked Slughorn.

“Defense, Charms, Transfiguration, Herbology —”

“All the subjects required, in short, for an Auror,” said Snape. There was a sneer in his voice, but there was always a sneer in Snape’s voice, so Harry could not be certain whether or not it was personal.

In truth, he and Snape had hardly spoken this year. Nonverbal casting in Defense Against the Dark Arts meant that he never had to open his mouth, and so he did not. Snape, largely, had taken to ignoring Harry, which Harry had no problem with. They’d reached something of an impasse; Harry knew that Snape loved Lily, and Snape knew that Harry had, however foolishly, risked his life to save Snape from Voldemort. There was a debt beneath that loathing, and both were content to pretend that nothing existed between them.

“I don’t think you should be an Auror, Harry,” said Luna. “The Aurors are part of the Rotfang conspiracy, I thought everyone knew that. They’re working to bring down the Ministry of Magic from within using a combination of Dark Magic and gum disease.”

Harry choked on his mead as McLaggen and Slughorn gaped at Luna. Snape remained unperturbed, but perhaps he was familiar with Luna’s absurdities after four years as her professor.

“And who,” Slughorn asked, perhaps having had enough glasses of mead to be genuinely interested, “is at the head of this conspiracy?”

“Rufus Scrimgeour, of course. They’ve nearly won now that he’s become Minister for Magic. Did you know Scrimgeour is a vampire? He’s got very close connections with Regulus Black from the years they spent together in Transylvania.”

This got an eyebrow raise out of Snape. Harry would have loved to watch more of the Enchanting Eccentricities of Luna Lovegood Hour, but something much more interesting grabbed his attention. Argus Filch appeared, dragging in Draco Malfoy by the ear.

“Professor Slughorn,” Filch gasped, “I have discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?”

Malfoy managed to wrench himself from the caretaker’s hold. “Alright, I wasn’t invited! I was trying to gate-crash, happy?”

“No, I am not!” Though Filch looked utterly pleased at the possibility of punishing a student. “You’re in trouble, you are! Didn’t the headmaster say that nighttime prowling’s out, unless you’ve got permission, didn’t he, eh?”

“That’s alright, Argus, that’s alright.” Slughorn did not look upset in the least. “It’s Christmas, and it’s not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we’ll forget any punishment; you may stay, Draco.”

Malfoy did not look pleased to hear this, and Harry wondered just what Malfoy had been up to. Snape, too, looked displeased, which was his default expression, but it was different somehow. Whatever Harry saw on Snape’s face was brief. It vanished as Filch did, though Filch left with far more grumbling. Malfoy’s displeasure, too, had disappeared, and he was smiling and thanking Slughorn for his graciousness.

“It’s nothing, nothing,” Slughorn said. “I did know your grandfather, after all.”

“He always spoke very highly of you, sir,” said Malfoy. “Said you were the best potion-maker he’d ever known.”

Though the displeasure had vanished, and Malfoy was his usual self again, full of flattery for those in power, Harry noticed that Malfoy was, incredibly, paler than usual. Shadows rimmed his eyes, and his features were, strangely, not unlike Sanguini’s, and not unlike Regulus Black’s, when he was fresh from Azkaban. He doubted Malfoy had recently received a vampire bite, and he was fairly certain that Malfoy had not run into any dementors at Hogwarts. He wondered what it was that had changed Malfoy so thoroughly.

“I’d like a word with you, Draco,” said Snape.

“Oh, now, Severus,” Slughorn paused to hiccough, “it’s Christmas. Don’t be too hard —”

“I’m his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or otherwise, to be,” said Snape. “Follow me, Draco.”

Harry had a brief moment of trepidation. He did not want to leave Luna with McLaggen, but he decided Luna was quite capable of looking after herself. He was the one who had taught her defensive spells, after all.

“Er — I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”

“Alright,” Luna said. She appeared entirely unbothered as she continued to tell McLaggen exactly how deep the Rotfang conspiracy went. 

As soon as Harry had slipped out through the doors of the party, he pulled the Invisibility Cloak over himself and unfolded the Marauder’s Map. He searched the corridor and adjacent classrooms for Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape. He finally found them behind the door at the very end of the corridor. He knew it would be impossible to open the door without disturbing them, so he crouched at the keyhole, careful that the cloak covered his feet.

“... what a risk it was! And utterly foolish. How did you expect it to even get into the castle? Filch may be an idiot, but even he wouldn’t let an unmarked package enter the castle without a thorough inspection. You must understand that you cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled —”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it, alright?”

“I hope you are telling the truth, because it was both clumsy and foolish. Already you are suspected of having a hand in it.”

“Who suspects me? For the last time, I didn’t do it, okay? That Bell girl must’ve had an enemy no one knows about — don’t look at me like that! I know what you’re doing. I’m not stupid — but it won’t work. I can stop you!”

There was a lull in the conversation and Harry wondered what Snape had done, but he got his answer quickly. 

“Ah… Your Aunt Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency. I see. What thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master, Draco?”

“I’m not trying to conceal anything from him, I just don’t want you butting in!”

Draco had always shown respect towards Snape. Snape was his favourite professor, his Head of House, and Snape had always shown him favour in return. This contempt was entirely new.

“So that is why you have been avoiding me this term? You realise that, had anybody else failed to come to my office when I had told them repeatedly to be there, Draco —”

“So put me in detention! Report me to Dumbledore!”

There was another long pause.

“You know perfectly well that I do not wish to do either of those things. Listen to me, Draco, I am trying to help you. I swore to your mother I would protect you. I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco —”

“Looks like you’ll have to break it then, because I don’t want your protection. It’s my job. He gave it to me, and I’m doing it. I’ve got a plan and it’s going to work. It’s just taking a bit longer than I thought it would!”

“And what is your plan?”

“It’s none of your business!”

“I have no interest in credit, Draco, I am only trying to assist you —” 

“I don’t believe you! I know what you are — I know why he asked me to do this and not you. Filthy Mudblood-lover.”

For a moment, Harry forgot to breathe.

“Do you doubt my loyalty, Draco?”

“Why shouldn’t I?! You betrayed him for Potter’s Mudblood-mother —”

“Keep your voice down!” Snape hissed, for Draco had begun to shout. “The Dark Lord is satisfied that I have proven myself. I was the one who told him the importance of the prophecy. I was the one who gave him the plan that lured Potter to the Ministry, was I not? I have put myself in a position that is as valuable to him as yours, and I have put myself at great risk to do so. You are putting yourself at risk unnecessarily. I am here to assist you Draco. I understand that your father’s capture and imprisonment has upset you, but —”

Harry heard Draco’s footsteps and only just managed to scramble away from the door as Draco flung it open and hurried out of the office, past the party, and down the stairs.

Harry stayed perfectly still, crouched in the centre of the corridor, and watched Snape exit the classroom. He appeared perfectly unperturbed, which Harry thought unfair, considering how fast his own heart was racing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated!


	16. A Frosty Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus passes another Christmas Eve full moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long-time fans of the series might recognize pieces of this chapter. A good bit of it is yanked out of the old "Will and Won't" piece that I published in 4 years ago and took down when I realized it would need a lot of work before it made its way into the story proper. Here is the proper version of it.
> 
> It's intensely emotional, and, honestly, there's not going to be a lot of reprieves from intense emotional chapters. We're on the down-hill slope of Half-Blood Prince, and it's going to be a fast ride to the bottom. I hope you're ready to take it with me.
> 
> Last note: if you've been following me on twitter, you probably noticed I've been tweeting a lot about playlists. I made one that's not exactly for this chapter but it's for the [Sirius-Remus-Tonks drama.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1Isf7B6bLTLo2anS13kqXh?si=eyjDumSISleZ_RJcYuajCA) You can listen while reading, or give one your full attention and save the other. Or not listen. Whichever way you choose, I won't keep you any longer.

It was colder than usual for Christmas Eve. A thin layer of frost covered the grounds of the Potter estate, and the grass crunched beneath Remus’ feet — no, not Remus’ feet, the wolf’s feet.

Remus was grateful for the Wolfsbane Potion, truly. It was horrible to lose complete control of himself once a month in both form and mind. He hated that he could hurt someone and there was nothing to stop him. The Wolfsbane Potion, while it did not give him control of his physical form, at least gave him control of his mind. The unfortunate side effect was that it left him alert in his wolf form in a way he did not care for.

When he inhaled, Remus did not just feel the sharp, cold air, but he tasted the scents within it. Styncon Garden had always been a better place to transform for the wolf, because it was full of so many interesting and new scents and sounds. There were unfamiliar trees, animals scurrying through the underbrush, and running water to splash in. For Remus, however, it was simply overwhelming.

In an attempt to voice his displeasure he growled, and a dog barked back.

Remus was only out here in the cold because Padfoot had nudged him out here. If he had his choice, Remus would prefer to be back in the Potters’ sitting room, curled up by a warm fire. But Padfoot had other ideas.

Remus indulged Padfoot in at least one lap around the house. It was true that he would feel better tomorrow if he moved his limbs now. It was always easier to shift between forms if he kept his body limber. Tense transformations and stiff nights lead to out-of-place joints when the sun rose, but it was simply too cold for running around outside for Remus. He didn’t know how Sirius could stand it; it wasn’t as if either of them grew winter coats.

Remus lumbered back inside and shook the ice from his paws. The polished wooden floor was a preferable texture to the icy garden, though not much warmer.

“Cold out there?” Harry asked.

Remus looked up to see Harry standing by the stove, pouring hot water from the kettle into a mug. What he wouldn’t give to be able to hold a warm cup of tea. But that wasn’t a choice Remus had at the moment. He only snorted, and padded through the house until he reached the sitting room.

James and Lily were on the sofa, also holding steaming mugs, and curled up against each other. They looked warm. Remus plopped himself down by the fire and was glad that his envy would not be noticeable on a wolf’s snout.

But Harry was not far behind, with Padfoot on his heels.

Though his envy may not be visible to the humans in the room, Remus knew Padfoot would smell it on him.

Communication as a wolf had been one of the strangest things for Remus to learn. Wolves communicated with sound and posture just as humans did, but they also communicated with smell. After Remus’s first transformation with the potion, when Harry had hardly been more than a toddler, he’d brought up the strange variation in James’s scent to Sirius. Surely Prongs should have smelled like a deer, and nothing else for the duration of the night. Padfoot had had his own distinct, unchanging scent, so why had Prongs’ scent varied?

“Oh — you were smelling James’s emotions,” Sirius had said, as nonchalantly as if Remus had described the scent of chocolate.

For Sirius, this method of communication was perhaps more natural than speech. Sirius, who had spent his life around liars, adjusted well to a system that made it impossible to lie. Padfoot knew immediately that Remus was envious of James and Lily, so without complaint nor prompting, he curled up beside Remus.

Padfoot’s scent was always so steady. At first, it had been strange to Remus, who knew Sirius to be a hurricane of emotions, an explosive reaction just waiting for the right spark. However, after years of full moons together, he had come to realise that when Sirius became Padfoot, he was, for a rare moment, at ease. For one night a month, nothing mattered to Sirius but the moon, and there was nothing but joy and playfulness each time.

At least, that was true of each transformation that Remus could recall clearly. The muddier ones, the angrier ones, the ones full of confusion — Remus imagined that Padfoot wasn’t as playful on those nights.

Beyond Padfoot’s scent, beyond the smoke of the fire, Remus could detect his least favorite scent, coming in waves off of each of the Potters. They were worried.

Remus hated for people to worry about him.

He didn’t deserve to be worried over. It was other people they ought to be worried about. It was the people Remus might hurt accidentally, the people who mattered, the people who weren’t monsters. People who weren’t broken.

People who didn’t muck up everything in their lives.

Padfoot growled a low, soft growl — a warning. Remus wondered if his self-loathing had a distinct scent.

But it was a hard spiral to pull himself out of. Remus was not an accomplished wizard. He wasn’t good with Potions or Charms like Lily; he didn’t have the talent for Transfiguration that James and Sirius had. Defense Against the Dark Arts he’d only learned by necessity, growing up in a war. He hadn’t been able to hold down a job because of his condition. He hadn’t been able to keep up a relationship with his father, he wasn’t even able to care for himself during the full moon. He relied on Sirius and the Potters for everything — for shelter, for potions, for protection. He hadn’t even managed to keep a healthy relationship with his best friend.

Padfoot’s low growl turned into a snarl. The Irish Wolfhound got to its feet and nudged Remus onto his. Reluctantly, Remus let Padfoot urge him outside, where Padfoot led him on a chase out to the orchard and back.

Remus had to admit, after being assaulted by the scents in the garden and fighting against the bitter weather to stay warm, it was difficult to remember what he had been so upset about.

The two of them were panting when Padfoot finally went up the kitchen steps and back into the house, and Remus gratefully followed. Remus didn’t know how late it was, but he noted that Harry had gone upstairs to bed. It was possible that Harry had been forced upstairs to bed, for his mug sat on the low table, cold and half-full.

James was still on the sofa, but Lily was no longer there. A quick sniff told Remus she was upstairs, perhaps putting Harry to bed or making sure there were rooms ready for Remus and Sirius when the sun rose. It was hard to know unless he went up there himself, but he was more interested in returning to the fireplace.

Padfoot leapt onto the sofa, only to be shoved off by an irritated James, who grabbed his wand off the coffee table and cleaned the muddy paw prints off of the sofa with a disgruntled curse. Remus did not need to be able to smell emotions in order to recognise the mischievous smile spread across Padfoot’s snout.

He wished that he could roll his eyes, but that was not an option for a wolf. Instead, he slumped down next to the fire with a disapproving snort. Padfoot licked his nose, then flopped down beside him.

Sleep was not easy as a wolf. He was too sensitive to sound, his body too attuned to changes in his environment to allow for proper rest. However, curled up beside Padfoot, nose practically buried into Sirius’s steady scent, it was easy to drift off.

A whispered conversation between James and Lily dragged him out of slumber, but he didn’t wake enough to focus on their words. Padfoot nudged him awake a little later and dragged him outside for one last run. And then before Remus knew it, it was sunrise on Christmas morning.

Though Remus could feel that everything in his body was fine, that nothing had gone wrong between transformations, Sirius insisted on a check up.

“I’m not even that sore,” Remus grunted as Sirius helped him up the stairs. “I just want to get into some warm clothes and get a few hours of real sleep.”

Sirius helped Remus hop the fourth step. “You say that like you’ve never lied about an injury before.”

Remus knew there was no arguing with that.

Sirius helped him stretch out on one of the guest beds, the one that Remus only loosely thought of as his own. The tip of Sirius’s wand pulsed with a gentle blue light as he checked each of Remus’s joints. Remus lay still and quiet, grateful to have passed a perfectly peaceful moon. He closed his eyes and was halfway asleep when Sirius pulled him out of his slumber.

“Can we have a real conversation before you pass out? Please?” Sirius asked.

Remus did not open his eyes. “Don’t ruin this, Sirius. This was easier than it’s been in years.”

“That’s why now’s the best time.”

“It’s Christmas.”

“So Harry’s busy opening his presents, and James and Lily are getting breakfast together. No one’s going to bother us.”

“You’re bothering me.”

“Remus — I just want you to be honest with me. Can you do that?”

Remus opened his eyes and wished he hadn’t. Sirius was leaning over him, one hand pressed into the pillow for support, the other holding his wand, still pulsing gently, against Remus’s chest. The light from the sunrise came in through the eastern window, hitting Sirius’s face just as it had on Christmas day nineteen years ago. It didn’t help that he had all the same angles Tonks had featured just two months ago.

Remus hated himself for the longing and desire that welled up in his chest — he didn’t deserve Sirius nor Tonks, not after what he was and what he had done — and before he could be grateful that Padfoot was not there to scent any of the complex feelings inside him, Sirius’s wand light pulsed a little bit faster, keeping up with Remus’s increasing heart rate.

“I kissed her,” Remus admitted in defeat. He watched the shadow of Sirius’ Adam’s apple bob with a hard swallow.

“And?” Sirius prompted.

“And nothing. I thought — I thought it was me, my own dream — I thought… I thought of our first kiss. That Christmas….”

Sirius closed his eyes. “Merlin, you remember that? I thought you were out of it — I thought you were delirious.”

“I might’ve been, but I meant it, Sirius. I did — I meant it.”

Sirius opened his eyes and searched Remus’s face. Remus wished he could pull a pillow over his head and hide. It had been easier to be honest when Sirius’ eyes were closed, when they weren’t staring at each other with such intensity. It was so hard to be known.

Sirius surged forward and kissed him. Remus bent into it willingly, pliant beneath Sirius’s touch. Sirius’ hand pulled away from the pillow to support Remus’s neck, and the dim glow of Sirius’ wand faded as Sirius’ other hand moved to Remus’ shoulder, resting on the circle of scars — Remus’ first scar.

This kiss was nothing like their first kiss. That Christmas, Remus had been lying on the sofa of the sitting room with a broken leg, and, in a moment of intense gratitude and no words to express it, had reached out with weak, aching joints and pulled Sirius into a kiss. It had been a fragile moment, one the two of them had been afraid to speak of again, for fear of breaking it.

This kiss was not that. It was sturdy, supported by twenty-five years of friendship and love. They each knew that no matter what happened after this moment, they would still be together. They could be no worse off in five minutes from now than they had been five minutes earlier. Their friendship was forged in so much fire, so much pain, and so much regret, as well as so much joy, that one sad, mournful, needy kiss would not and could not break anything between them.

Sirius pulled away and Remus’ head sank back into the pillow. Remus wondered why Sirius looked so heartbroken. He wondered if it was his fault for being nineteen years out of practice.

“You don’t want this,” Sirius said simply.

Remus opened his mouth to lie, to say that of course he did, but he had known Sirius too long, and they knew each other too well.

“I don’t want any of this,” he whispered. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

Sirius’ weight seemed to suddenly become too heavy for him to hold up any longer. He sank down onto the bed beside Remus. The mattress dipped beneath him and Remus adjusted so that he didn’t roll over into Sirius.

Sirius buried his head into his hands. “You’re my best mate and I —”

“James is your best mate.”

“Don’t — don’t you dare talk yourself down, not right now.”

Remus didn’t need to be able to smell emotions to know how angry Sirius had become. He could see the tension in Sirius’s shoulders; he could hear the poorly restrained fury in Sirius’s voice.

Remus winced, but forced himself to sit up. He leaned against Sirius and held him close as Padfoot had done for him just hours ago. “What do you want me to say?” he whispered.

“I just want you to be happy — for once in your goddamn life, I want you to be happy.”

“I am happy. I’ve been happy for years.” Remus pressed his forehead against the space between Sirius’ shoulders. “I’ve made friends with three of the most loyal, stubborn people in the world. I’ve gotten to see one of my best mates marry the love of his life. I’ve gotten to watch Harry grow into an incredible young man, as compassionate as his father, as fierce as his mother, and as loyal as you. I’ve gotten so much more out of life than I ever thought I deserved.”

Sirius’ hands slid down Remus’ forearms until they met Remus’ hands, clasped around Sirius’ waist. He forced Remus to let go and turned around. 

“We’re in a war, Remus.” Sirius sounded as desperate as their kiss had felt. “You mean to tell me that if you ran afoul of a Death Eater tomorrow, you’d have no regrets?”

Though the lie threatened to strangle him, though it stuck in his throat and weighed down his tongue, Remus forced it out. “None.”

Sirius’ face seemed to shatter, like the weight of the lie broke him, too. 

“And if I died tomorrow? If Tonks died tomorrow?”

It was suddenly hard to breathe, as if he’d been gored on Prongs’ antlers. “I don’t —” But he didn’t have the words for what he was so afraid to admit. It was too much, too tangled.

“What do you _want_ , Remus? I’m not asking what you deserve, I’m asking what you _want_.”

Remus tried and failed to restrain a laugh. It came out something like a strangled whimper, pathetic and humorless. “I want to be normal — I want to not be cursed. I want to look at the moon without counting days and dreading the future. I want a steady job and my own flat. I want to be just like everyone else, like you and James — but I can’t have what I want. Can’t you let me be content with what I do have?”

“No,” Sirius said, and there was no anger nor defiance in it. Only heartbreak. “You deserve so much more.”

“You didn’t ask what I deserve.”

“And what would you say if I did?”

“Nothing.”

It had become such a weighted word between the two of them. Remus deserved nothing, he felt nothing, and their fights were about nothing. Nothing was everything between them.

Sirius dropped his gaze to their hands, still intertwined. “I’ve never actually apologised, have I? I’ve never said I was sorry.”

“For what? Keeping me awake after a full moon? On Christmas morning, of all days?”

It was meant to make Sirius smile, but it didn’t work.

“For thinking you were the spy. For thinking you would betray Lily and James.”

Remus could hear the tears Sirius tried to choke down, and he searched desperately for a way to keep them at bay. He could feel them welling up in himself, too.

“It’s alright,” he said. “I thought you were the spy —”

“Only after James and Lily were nearly killed! I was the one who ruined our friendship. It was my own stupid suspicions —”

“I understand why you did it.”

Remus had chosen the wrong words to offer comfort. Tears slipped down Sirius’ cheeks and dripped onto their hands. Sirius’ grip tightened and his knuckles paled. It hurt, but Remus did not flinch.

“Why won’t you understand?” Sirius’ words were distant, defeated. “That’s the problem. I had no reason to suspect you were the spy. James told me time and again that I was being paranoid, mistrustful because of what you were —”

“What I am.”

“It doesn’t matter! It’s never mattered. I’ve only ever known you this way.” Sirius squeezed his eyes closed and dropped his head to Remus’s shoulder, tears falling onto the crescent pattern of scars that had first marked Remus. “We’ve all of us only known you like this. It’s part of who you are in all the best ways and I was awful for thinking it was part of you in the worst ways.”

There were no sobs as Sirius cried, no heavy breathing, but Remus could feel the steady drip of uncontrollable tears down his chest just the same. His own vision blurred, but he blinked his tears back. 

He waited until he was sure he could speak without his voice cracking before he said, slowly and carefully, “If I tell you I forgive you, will you forgive yourself for it?”

“Only if you promise to forgive yourself, too.”

Things were never easy with Sirius Black. 

Remus extricated his hands from Sirius’ and gently guided Sirius’ face to his for another kiss. It was not a promise, but it was an attempt. If Remus could forgive Sirius, and if he could forgive himself, perhaps they had a chance at this.

Sirius was reluctant, unused to being guided into anything, too well acquainted with his own brash and impulsive dives into bad decisions. Remus could taste the salt of Sirius’s tears in the edges of his mouth and he wanted so desperately to make them disappear. It wasn’t fair for his friends to be broken on his account. That was for him and him alone to bear —

Sirius pulled away. “I don’t want this.”

Remus felt those antlers dig into his chest again. Or perhaps it was more akin to being kicked with all the force of a buck’s hindlegs. Either way, he couldn’t breathe.

Sirius’s face seemed to be painted in the same heartache that was rending Remus in two. “Please — I don’t mean I don’t want you, I just mean….” Sirius withdrew from Remus entirely and got up from the bed. He ran his hands over his face. “I’m sorry, I — I said I want you to be happy, and if we do this — if we do this now, I’m always going to worry that you made the wrong choice.”

“You don’t trust me to choose my own way?”

The look Sirius gave him said it all. There was no need for words. Just as he had lied about his wounds so many times before, he had lied about his happiness. How was Sirius to trust him now?

Anger flared in Remus, and he worked to hide it, to douse it before it spread. He did not allow himself anger often, and he certainly did not allow himself anger at people he loved. This anger, though, seemed to be directed inward more than outward.

“So you’re forcing me to choose Dora, is that it? By refusing me, you’re making the choice for me. What makes your decision any better than mine?”

Sirius’s lip trembled and it felt so wrong to Remus to have Sirius on the edge of tears and Remus on the edge of an outburst. This wasn’t the pattern their friendship had taken over the years. This conversation was so far out of their depth. They had avoided swimming in these waters for years, because they knew the storms that lurked here, and now they had gone diving in.

“That’s the problem,” Sirius said, barely managing to bite back his tears. “I don’t know — I can’t know. No one knows you better than I do — not James, not Lily — and yet I can’t know what the right decision is for you. I can’t know it, and I don’t know how to trust you to know it. Why me over her? I know you love her — you can’t tell me you don’t, not if you kissed her the way you kissed me.”

Remus immediately regretted that moment of vulnerability. He had meant to take that kiss to his grave, and he could have saved himself so much trouble if he had only kept his mouth shut, as he had intended to. He could have made a dozen promises to Sirius in this moment that his fondness for Dora was fleeting, that what he had here with just the two of them was what mattered most. Instead, he had been honest. He had admitted he was torn, that Sirius and Dora held equal weight in his heart.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? Not that he was torn, but that he was willing to lie about it. Sirius wasn’t upset that Remus loved someone else. There was no jealousy, no anger at Tonks. Sirius was only upset that Remus was a liar.

“I’m afraid…” Remus started, but realised that he wasn’t sure how to finish. He was afraid of so many things. Which was most important to him in this moment? Which was most important to Sirius? He rubbed his eyes and tried again. “I’m afraid that what happened to us will happen with Tonks. I’m afraid I’ll hurt her the way I hurt you. I enjoyed my friendship with her the way I enjoyed ours. She was so vibrant and full of… I don’t know, life. She reminded me of the year you first ran away to James’s. The year you finally started to be fully yourself.”

“And so you pushed her away, what, because you were afraid she’d turn into how I am now? Melodramatic, spiteful, and needy?”

Remus searched Sirius’s face for humour and found none. “I’m only afraid that I’ll hurt her.”

“I hate to break it to you Moony, but you already have.”

“Then I suppose it’s over.”

Sirius shook his head. “Are you twelve? You think because you’ve hurt someone once, that’s the end of a relationship? Why do you think I’m still here — you know how often we’ve fought, how often James and I have fought, how often Lily and I still fight — and you think none of us have ever been hurt in those fights?”

“That’s different.”

“How? How is it any different?”

The answer on the tip of Remus’ tongue was that James and Lily and Sirius were human, and that they deserved happiness. But he did not say this, because Sirius would not like it. It was possible, judging by the pain in Sirius’ grey eyes, that Remus did not need to say it. Sirius knew Remus well enough to know the shape of his self-deprecating thoughts.

“You give so much grace to others,” Sirius said, “and leave none for yourself.”

His heart stopped for a moment, and Remus buried his face in his hands, if only to hide it from Sirius. Remus knew where those words had come from, but he did not know where Sirius had heard them. 

Remus had said them to Lily, during the first war, exactly as Sirius had just repeated them now. They’d hardly been twenty, and she’d been tearing herself apart over her inability to fight as she recovered from her pregnancy and her inability to care for Harry as she wanted to amid the stress of the war and hiding. At the time, Remus had not known there was a prophecy laid over Harry nor that Voldemort had marked him for death, but surely that had affected Lily’s stress.

“You give so much grace to others,” Remus had said, “and leave none for yourself.”

When had Lily repeated those words to Sirius? When had Sirius, who was so brash and confident to a point of arrogance, needed to be told to allow himself grace? And how was it fair of Sirius to throw his own words back at him this way?

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said. It was less earnest and more defeated than his earlier apology. “You were right — I shouldn’t have tried to have this conversation with you so soon after a transformation. I should just let you rest.”

Remus, still unable to look at Sirius, said into his hands, “It’s alright — I know why you insisted.”

Sirius’s footsteps were halfway to the door, but they stopped. “Because I’m selfish and needy?”

“Because you know as well as I that I’m a better liar on the new moon.”

“Maybe. But lying’s a choice too. I love you, Remus, I truly do, but you are choosing to lie to people who care about you, and choosing to lie to yourself. All I’m asking of you is that you be honest with yourself — and me — but mostly yourself. You and I… we chose to doubt each other. We chose to hurt ourselves rather than risk confronting the hurt between us. For fifteen years we’ve let a moment of doubt keep us apart. I don’t want to watch you make that mistake twice, not when she’s trying so hard to do right by the both of us.”

Remus still could not bring himself to look up, not until he heard the door close behind Sirius. When he was certain that he was alone, he dressed in warm pyjamas and pulled the covers over his head to block out the bits of sunrise that the curtains did not. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and sleep came easy. His dreams, however, were rife with confusion and uncertainty.

Sirius got at least one of his wishes: Remus could not lie, not even to himself, in his dreams.

Remus wanted so many things. He wanted a deeper relationship with Sirius. He wanted a deeper relationship with Nymphadora. He wanted what James and Lily had. He was so envious of James, and had been for years. But he had denied himself the things he wanted because of what he was. His dreams forced him to confront the unfortunate truth that Sirius had pointed out: the people that Remus loved had never known him as anything other than a werewolf. Perhaps he could argue that James, Sirius, and Lily had periods in their life where they hadn’t realised what he was, but James and Sirius had known within two years, and Lily had stood firmly by his side when she’d uncovered it in their seventh year.

And Dora had never known him any other way. Perhaps before they’d begun working together, she hadn’t realised, hadn’t put it together, but they’d hardly been friends then, at least not truly, at least not in any way that mattered. It was only after Severus’ betrayal, when everyone knew, that he and Tonks had even become friends rather than mutual acquaintances of Sirius.

And Harry, of course, had never, for even a moment, had illusions that Remus was anything other than a werewolf.

He could not pretend that he was hated for what he was, not by the people who mattered most. However, the hurdle that he did not know how to overcome was the hatred that he felt for the wolf and everything it took from him.

Whatever the solution was, this was not a hurdle to be overcome in a single restless sleep.

When Remus awoke, the bedroom was washed in the golden sunlight of afternoon. With a groan of complaint at having slept most of Christmas Day away, he heaved himself out of bed. He took a moment to freshen up and dress in proper clothing before heading downstairs.

When he reached the kitchen, he was greeted by a chorus of “Happy Christmas!” Lily left the kitchen sink to pull him into a hug, give him a kiss on the cheek, and press a drink into his hand, all in a single fluid motion.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Stiff,” he answered, “but nothing a drink can’t fix.”

James looked up from the roast he was cutting. “Take a seat! We’ll have dinner on the table in a moment — Harry was just telling us about Slughorn’s Christmas party. Apparently there was a vampire.”

“And no, Lupin, before you bring up that silly article again, I do not know him.” Regulus Black looked up from his seat beside Harry and gestured to the empty chair beside Sirius.

Remus hesitated only a moment before taking the seat beside Sirius. “I’m not the one who brings it up. That’s Sirius, isn’t it?”

“It’s not me,” Sirius said, “it’s Tonks. But you have a habit of quoting her dramatic reading and Snape impression.”

Remus’ cheeks grew warm and he hid his blush in a large sip of whatever Lily had put in his hand. It was thick and sweet, but strong nonetheless. He swallowed and said, “It was a very funny reading. Don’t let me interrupt your story, Harry, continue.”

Harry shoved a pile of wrapped gifts across the kitchen table. “Gifts first.”

Remus stared down at the packages. “These are all… mine?”

From Harry, there was a new scarf, and from James and Lily a new cloak. Sirius gifted him with a set of Decoy Detonators from the Weasley twins’ shop. Regulus gave him the much more practical gift of a new set of quills.

“Now you’ve got no excuse not to write,” James said.

There were two other gifts on the table. One was from Tonks. The note attached simply said, “Happy Christmas.” Inside was a book of crossword puzzles. He might have stared at it for a while longer if the second gift — strange and unmarked — wasn’t so intriguing.

“Picksie swears up and down that it’s safe,” James said, “but we haven’t been able to work out who it’s from.”

The wrapping was plain brown paper tied with a string. Remus opened it carefully, expecting a prank from James or Sirius. Inside, however, was nothing but a handful of chocolate frogs. He looked up at James, waiting for a punchline.

“That’s thoughtful,” said Lily.

“No note inside?” Sirius asked.

“It’s really not from one of you?” Remus asked. “Not even from Picksie, maybe?”

James frowned. “I could ask her again, but she’s not the sort to lie.”

“Where is she, anyway?” asked Sirius.

“We made her take a holiday. Her and Mellie. Mellie is…” James cleared his throat. “Well, Mellie isn’t doing very well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Regulus said, with about as much sympathy as Regulus usually spoke with, which was to say, hardly any at all.

James accepted it regardless. “Thank you — She’s at least a hundred and fifty, so it’s not… surprising.” He set the knife down beside the roast, though he was only halfway through slicing it for dinner. “Sorry — I’ll… Just a minute.” With another cough, James left the kitchen. Lily hurried after him.

Sirius, without a word, continued the preparations that James had abandoned. Harry got up and continued scrubbing the dishes his mother had been working on, and began setting the dining room table for the meal.

Remus opened one of the chocolate frogs absentmindedly, catching it before it could drown itself in his glass. He could not fathom how hard Mellie’s aging must be for James. Mellie had been a part of the Potter family for generations, and had probably raised James at least as much as his parents had. James had had to leave her behind in the first war, and he’d only just gotten her back a year ago. There was nothing about this that could be easy. Judging by the silence in the kitchen, everyone understood and respected James’ need for space.

By the time Sirius and Harry had finished dinner preparations, James was ready to enjoy Christmas with his family once again. 

Conversation was more subdued than it had been in years prior. Remus didn’t know whether to blame the full moon, James’ grief, the war — or perhaps all were to blame for their own part. Sirius did his best to keep spirits up. At least, Remus didn’t think anyone else was responsible for the cranberry sauce spontaneously exploding in Regulus’ face.

As Lily got up to get Regulus an extra napkin, Harry turned to Remus. “Are you staying until New Year’s?” 

“I should get back to the pack soon. It’s one thing to slip away on the full moon and take a day or two to recover, but to be gone a week is much more difficult. They already don’t trust me very much. And how can they, when Greyback’s offer is so much more tempting than Dumbledore’s?”

“I don’t think Greyback’s offer is tempting.”

Remus laughed, but sobered quickly. “You have not been shunned by wizards for your entire life, denied a job, a home, a wand….” He finished off the drink Lily had given him and wondered where he might find another. “The Ministry has been unkind to many different people. Those people would love their own chance at justice.”

“Dumbledore’s offering that, isn’t he?”

“He is trying, but he is not Minister for Magic. He cannot change the government overnight, nor the minds of people who have been raised with these prejudices. Those are the people enacting the laws, and it makes change difficult.”

“Are we bitching about the Ministry?” Lily said. She leaned over the table to refill Remus’s glass with what looked like a decanter of bourbon. She was generous with her pour.

James pulled the decanter from her hand, but only to pour it into his own glass. “Let me start! They haven’t made a single arrest on their own since Stan Shunpike, and we all know that boy’s been a load of hippogriff shit since the day his mother put him on the Hogwarts’ Express. And the one arrest they did get right — Travers — took your mother and I helping the Longbottoms to bring him in. Did we get any credit? Not a word in the paper about the Potters’ gracious assistance.”

“Humble of you,” Regulus said, and took the decanter from James. He was more modest with his pour, but only just.

“It’s not the credit we want,” Lily said. “It’s just that after a year of dragging all of us through the mud, it’d be nice to get some sort of apology. We were right after all — for Merlin’s sake, not that I’d flaunt it, but we are the parents of the Chosen One, and you think they could stand to mention that once or twice.”

“You know the reason for it, don’t you?” Regulus asked.

“They can’t stand to appear incompetent? They’re experts at hypocrisy?” Sirius offered.

“Umbridge has been put in charge of Public Information and Awareness.”

Lily spat her drink across the table. Remus downed his in one large gulp.

“Dolores Umbridge is in charge of Public Information?” James asked. He shook his head. “That explains those terrible pamphlets.”

Remus, after allowing himself a moment of anger, glanced at Harry. The tension in Harry’s fist, wrapped around his knife, and the light reflecting off of the shiny white scars on the back of his hand told Remus all that he needed to know. He reached for the wine bottle and poured Harry a glass.

“I can’t have a conversation about that woman,” Lily said, “not on Christmas Day, not in my house. Harry — who else was at Slughorn’s party? You didn’t even say who you went with.”

“Oh. I went with Luna Lovegood.” He took a sip of the wine and did a very poor job of concealing his distaste for it. “She was excellent. She went on about Ministry conspiracies to McLaggen, Slughorn, and Snape.” Harry frowned as he mentioned Snape, which didn’t surprise Remus. He knew there had never been fondness between them, and he didn’t expect there ever would be.

“McLaggen?” Sirius asked.

Remus remembered Cormac McLaggen. He did not need Harry to rehash McLaggen’s attitude at Quidditch tryouts and treatment of Hermione at the party to jog his memory. McLaggen had been a fourth year when Remus was a professor at Hogwarts, and it was hard to forget the tall, arrogant boy who had the reflexes of a duelist but none of the steadfastness, only the attitude necessary to believe he was the best in Defense Against the Dark Arts. But despite his self-confidence, he had not been the best in his year. That honour had gone to Katie Bell.

Remus waited until Harry was done with his tirade about McLaggen to ask, “Has Katie Bell returned to school yet?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Did Tonks mention in her Auror report that I said it was Draco Malfoy?”

Remus’s stomach churned with several emotions, just at the casual mention of Tonks’ name. He was able to identify guilt and heartbreak, easily enough. They were familiar friends by now. The others were harder to parse.

“Her report said it was most likely a woman who Imperiused Katie,” James said.

“Besides, wasn’t Malfoy in detention?” Regulus asked.

“Yes, but I know Malfoy did it — I’m certain of it. I overheard him talking to Snape after Slughorn’s party.”

“What exactly did you hear?” asked Lily.

As Harry recounted the conversation between Snape and Draco, two things stuck out to Remus that did not seem to bother anyone else. Draco had refused Snape’s help, and his father was in Azkaban. Remus wanted to know how Draco was doing, and if he truly felt as alone as Remus imagined he might. When Remus had met Draco, he’d seen someone who relied on others, whether tearing them down or leaning on their authority. He’d hoped to provide Draco with a healthier source of support. That had soured, as he had always known it would were his secret uncovered, but Remus still worried about Draco, as he worried about all his students. Whatever Draco was up to, he did not have anyone’s support.

The second thing Remus wanted to know was how Regulus Black knew that Draco had been in detention when Katie Bell was cursed.

However, understandably, James, Lily, and Sirius were focused on two different equally important details.

“You’re sure he said the Unbreakable Vow?” James asked.

“And he admitted to telling Voldemort the best way to lure you to the Ministry?” asked Lily.

Sirius shook his head. “You should’ve gone straight to Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore wasn’t there,” Harry protested. “I did try. Then when we got home I didn’t want to make a fuss before the full moon, and I didn’t plan on bringing it up during Christmas dinner, but I thought I’d tell you tomorrow.”

“Did you consider,” Regulus Black began in a slow voice, “that Dumbledore already knows? It’s quite possible that he has asked Snape to get closer to Draco Malfoy in order to uncover what he has been asked to do.”

The look on Harry’s face told Remus that yes, he had considered it, and no, he did not like that answer. “What about luring me to the Ministry of Magic? Did Dumbledore ask him to do that, too?”

“Not that I care to defend Severus,” Remus said, “but you had made several promises that you would stay in the castle. Perhaps Severus underestimated your bravery, and did not think you would leave Hogwarts for his sake. Just because the plan he gave Voldemort worked does not mean that was ever his intention.”

Harry folded his arms over his chest. “Is Snape really that great of an actor?”

“He has to be to do his job,” Lily conceded.

“Why did he tell Voldemort about the prophecy in the first place?”

“Dumbledore asked him to,” said James. “We knew that Voldemort knew half of the prophecy. He would be unable to resist the temptation of a second half, so we used it to lure him to the Ministry and reveal himself. Not that any of it went according to plan….”

“But he said he made the Unbreakable Vow,” Harry insisted. “He’ll die if he doesn’t help Draco — why would he go so far?”

“We are all of us prepared to die,” Remus said. It was not a pleasant thought, not for Christmas, but it had to be said. “If it means seeing this thing through, we each do what we must. I would not judge Snape too quickly. But I would tell Dumbledore.”

“On that happy note,” Lily said, “how do we feel about Christmas pudding?”

Dessert was a lighter affair, at least, and something Remus thought they all deserved, including himself. He’d had nothing but heavy conversations today.

When they finally retired into the sitting room with cups of herbal tea, straight from the Potters’ garden, Regulus bid them goodnight and returned to Grimmauld Place. Remus seated himself in an armchair and continued his conversation with James about recent Quidditch game cancellations in the wake of Voldemort’s return while Sirius went upstairs to find a deck of Exploding Snap. Harry and Lily each settled into the sofa with a book.

Sirius had only just returned with a deck of cards in his hand when an enormous silver wolf bounded through the wall above the fireplace and settled on the coffee table in the centre of the room. Remus stared in surprise, wondering why his Patronus had appeared before him, unbidden. He did not summon it even when he needed it, not if he could help it.

And then Tonks’ voice filled the room.

“Minister for Magic arriving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated.


	17. A Sluggish Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Minister overstays his welcome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been lovely getting comments from new readers and comments from old readers who have rediscovered this story! Work has been anxiety-inducing lately, as we try to close the year and plan for the fall, which is just hard to do when we don't know what fall will look like, and your comments make each difficult day a little easier to bear. 
> 
> I hope you're all well and I hope you enjoy this chapter. There's a lot of good stuff this week tucked into 8000 words.

Tonks’ message had hardly been delivered when the chime that alerted the household to a breach of the property line flitted through the house. Harry tucked his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ between the sofa cushions.

“What’s the Minister coming here for?” he asked.

Sirius’s face was grim. “Caroling, I’m sure.”

Remus looked strangely pale, even for the day after a transformation. “I should go,” he said.

Lily took a sip of her tea and did not look at Remus. “Because of Tonks or the Minister?”

“Not now, Lils,” James sighed. “We’ve got maybe an hour until he gets here. Prioritise.”

“We’ve just been through this month’s batch of Wolfsbane so those bottles are empty,” Lily ticked off each item on her finger as she said them. “But we have an excess of emergency Blood-Replenishing Potions on hand that might look suspicious.”

“Harry,” James said, “Blood-Replenishing Potions in that nook behind your wardrobe. Got it?”

As Harry hurried into the kitchen, Lily shouted after him, “They don’t last long enough to be worth keeping! Just chuck them out.”

Harry opened the Potters’ cabinet of potions and pulled out every bright red jar and bottle he could find. His mother was excellent at labeling and organising, so it was not hard to be sure that he had all the right ones. 

He had just emptied the last of the bottles and was beginning to rinse them out when Remus appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Sirius and I are leaving,” Remus said. “Happy Christmas, Harry. Thank you again for the scarf.”

Harry rinsed the sticky residue of Blood-Replenishing Potion off of his hands and hurried to hug Remus good-bye. “Thank you for your gift too — Are you really leaving because of Tonks?”

“I’m not sure Tonks would care to see me at the moment. Regardless, there’s no love lost between me and the Ministry. I don’t know that I’ll see you before you head back to Hogwarts, so have a good term.”

“Thanks.”

“And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but be careful with Scrimgeour. He’s not the sort of politician Fudge was, but he isn’t someone to underestimate.”

“Got it. Be safe.”

Remus smiled. “You too.”

Harry followed Remus back to the sitting room and said goodbye to Sirius. When Sirius and Remus had stepped through the green flames of the Floo Network and on to Grimmauld Place, Lily put on a coat and dragonhide gloves and headed out into the cold to Vanish the flowers, grumbling all the while about losing another garden’s worth of wolfsbane. Harry finished the washing-up and James cleared their Potions cabinet of Wolfsbane ingredients.

By the time the Minister knocked on the door, the Potters were once again in the sitting room, but the quiet, relaxed atmosphere had vanished. Harry was fidgeting with his wand and trying to keep his leg from bouncing. Lily had picked up her book again, but her eyes were on James as he paced in front of the fireplace. He paused at the sound of the knock, smoothed the front of his shirt, and hurried to the door.

Harry looked to Lily. “Should we have made him tea? How do you entertain the Minister?”

“I don’t feel much like entertaining him,” Lily said.

James’ voice drifted into the sitting room as he interrogated the Minister. Though Harry couldn’t make out the Minister’s answers, he could guess them easily enough.

“I just don’t know how I can be sure you’re you,” James said. “We haven’t any pre-established questions…. But of course anyone can impersonate the Minister! A friend of mine did it in school to get me out of a detention. You’d be surprised how easy it is…. I really don’t know what you can do to prove you’re the Minister…. Well, I suppose if Tonks vouches for you, that will have to do. Tonks, what sort of cake did we have at Harry’s eleventh birthday?”

Harry was not sure even he remembered the cake from his eleventh birthday, but whatever Tonks said was acceptable to James, because they all walked into the sitting room. Harry and Lily stood to greet them, though Harry was certain even this politeness grated on his mother.

Rufus Scrimgeour was not as tall as Harry had expected. This may have been because he leaned on a cane as he walked. His hair stuck out from his head much like a lion’s mane, however, and his wide, flat nose only added to the impression. It reminded Harry of someone, but he couldn’t recall who. Possibly Scrimgeour had a relative who’d attended Hogwarts.

“What a surprise this is,” Lily said, “on Christmas Day, of all days.” Her displeasure was restrained, but only just. Harry wondered if she’d have been more pleasant if she hadn’t just found out that Dolores Umbridge was still a high-level employee within the Ministry. Harry knew it certainly affected his opinion.

Rufus Scrimgeour cleared his throat. “I know it is not a day for disturbing families —”

“Not unless you’re caroling,” James said. “Shall I fetch the record player?”

“— so I appreciate your hospitality,” Scrimgeour said, as if James hadn’t interrupted.

Tonks, at least, flashed James a sympathetic smile.

“Please, sit,” and Lily gestured to the plush armchair nearest to the fireplace. 

Scrimgeour graciously accepted her offer. Tonks took a seat next to Harry, right on top of _Advanced Potion-Making_. She winced as the corner of the book stuck into her backside, and set it on the table. Harry struggled to hold in his laughter. For some reason, he didn’t think that laughing in front of Scrimgeour was appropriate.

“To what do we owe the honour of your call?” James asked as he took a seat beside Lily. “I hope nothing has happened.”

“No, nothing. Nothing new, anyway, or nothing you haven’t heard already, I’m sure. I thought it would be worthwhile to come and thank you both for the help you were in arresting Travers, to show the Ministry’s gratitude.”

“Oh, were you grateful?” Lily asked. “I wasn’t able to tell.”

James cleared his throat, and Harry watched his hand squeeze Lily’s in warning. “Thank you, Minister. It’s kind of you to come all the way out yourself. I know the walk across our property can be strenuous.”

“Indeed. It seems your property is well-protected. A fortunate thing in these trying times.”

“I did most of the charm work myself,” James said, “after Regulus Black escaped Azkaban.”

“Yes, so I heard. Understandably, the Ministry is very concerned with your family’s safety, and —”

“Are you?” Lily asked, with the exact same scorn Harry had heard from her in Snape’s memory, when she had called James a toerag.

Scrimgeour ignored her as easily as he’d ignored James’ comment about caroling. “— and while I have found your security measures impressive, I think that the Ministry could provide some additional protection.”

“I’m sure we can manage,” James said in a rush, probably in an attempt to keep Lily from telling Scrimgeour exactly what she thought of the Ministry’s protection. Though she really didn’t need to voice her opinion; Harry could see it plainly on her face.

“The Ministry is offering constant Floo Network protection, as well as an Auror stationed on your property at all times. These protections are not offered lightly, I assure you. I would think you would want to do the most for your son’s safety, don’t you?”

Lily stood, and James did not make any attempt to stop her. “You do not get to sit there and tell me what I would or would not do for my son. You do not get to walk into my house, and tell me I am not doing enough when it was the Ministry who allowed Umbridge into Hogwarts, and refused to remove her when she was torturing my son. I’ll thank you kindly to leave protecting Harry to us, as we have done for the last sixteen years.”

Scrimgeour did not seem fazed by Lily’s outburst, but he did alter his course slightly. His eyes flicked over Harry. Harry had a feeling that whatever else he had come to say would not be any more pleasant.

“What do you think, Harry?” Scrimgeour asked. “Do you think these rumors in the _Prophet_ are true? That you truly are ‘the Chosen One’ as they say?”

Harry remembered Dumbledore’s warning about sharing the prophecy, and Remus’s warning about underestimating Scrimgeour.

“I don’t really know what to think,” Harry answered, which was largely true. “I try not to believe too much of what I read in the paper these days, considering who’s in charge of information and all.”

Scrimgeour took a moment to reevaluate his perception of Harry. “Regardless of the truth, people believe that you are ‘the Chosen One.’ They think you quite the hero — which of course you are, chosen or not.”

“That’s not what people thought of me last year, after I’d actually fought Voldemort.”

“Perceptions change, Harry,” Scrimgeour said, and Harry could not help but bristle. It sounded something like a threat. “Right now, the perception is that you are a hero — more than a hero, you are a symbol of hope for the Wizarding world. The idea that there is somebody out there who might be able, who might even be destined, to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named — naturally, it gives people a lift. Would you not consider that, in light of this effect, you have a duty to stand alongside the Ministry, and give the world a boost?”

“You are unbelievable,” Lily snapped. “You think that instead of writing to us, you’ll get a different answer if you ask Harry directly? You really think —”

“It’s alright, Mum,” Harry said, careful to keep his voice even, though his mother’s temper was infectious. “Minister, I read every letter you wrote my parents this summer. I even helped write some of the replies. I don’t see how, if you couldn’t get Cedric Diggory to convince me to stand with the Ministry, you thought you’d be able to convince me yourself. I’m not interested in being used.”

Scrimgeour ran his hand across his thick but trim beard. He seemed to accept that Harry was not to be persuaded, and surveyed the entire family. He settled on James, perhaps because James was the only one who had not been curt with him yet. “We all want the same thing. We all want to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named defeated. We cannot do that if we refuse to work together.”

“These protections that you mentioned,” James asked, “are they really offered? Or are you insisting?”

“Will my answer affect your decision?”

“I’m afraid it won’t.”

“The Ministry is concerned for your family’s safety. Chosen or not, your family is a target for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers. Tonks will be staying for additional protection until another Auror comes to relieve her. As thin as our resources are, we would be derelict in our duty if we did not devote some of those resources to protecting you.”

“Like watching our Floo Network in case Dumbledore comes to visit? Like having an Auror stationed here so you can spy on us and any work we do for the Order? Please don’t pretend with us, Minister. We’ve been nothing but forthright with you since the day you took over from Fudge. I would appreciate it if you would extend myself and my family the same courtesy.”

Scrimgeour took one last survey of the Potters. James and Harry looked as resolute as ever. Lily was still on her feet, ready to show Scrimgeour out.

Scrimgeour finally seemed to understand what a waste this trip had been. He stood slowly and leaned heavily on his cane to do so. “So you do know where it is Dumbledore disappears to?”

“Can’t say I do,” James said as he got to his feet.

Harry stood, too. “I don’t think we’d tell you if we did.”

“Please, Minister,” Lily said with an unpleasant smile, “feel free to use the Floo to see yourself out. The Powder’s there on the mantle.”

Scrimgeour did not reach for the jar of Floo Powder. He gave Lily a hard look and said, “And it has not crossed your mind — any of you — that Dumbledore might be using you? That perhaps Dumbledore, too, is not ignoring the rumour that Harry is ‘the Chosen One’?”

Harry had not seen his father look so angry since Remus’s arrest at the Quidditch World Cup. James stepped forward, picked up his wand from the table, and said, “Dumbledore is the one who protected us when Voldemort first rose to power. Dumbledore is the one who cared about our safety, and the safety of Harry before Harry was even born. Dumbledore is the one who was ready when Voldemort returned, the one who did not bury his head in the sand, who prepared, who listened to Harry when Harry said he’d fought him, who spent a year doing what he could to protect Harry while the Ministry vilified and tortured him. It would not bode well for you to disparage Dumbledore’s name in our house, and should you ever darken our doorstep again, I think you will not find us nearly so hospitable.”

If Scrimgeour was searching for a final word on the matter, he found none. With lips pressed together and brow furrowed, he took a handful of powder from the mantle and threw it into the fire. The moment he stepped through the fireplace and returned to the Ministry, James sank onto the sofa.

“Merlin, Lily, did I really just say all that to the Minister for Magic?”

“You did, dear, it was quite impressive.”

James did not offer even a smile at her endearment. He only let out a long sigh. “Well, merry Christmas everyone. Tonks, I’m sorry you had to be here for that.”

Tonks shrugged, then stood and stretched. “It’s no skin off my nose. I’ll just head upstairs to bed, if that’s alright with you. I can give the Minister some hippogriff shit tomorrow about a made-up conversation I overheard or something.”

“Let me get a room ready for you,” James said, and pulled himself to his feet. “I think the one you used before was… occupied recently. Watch the fourth step on your way up, please.”

As James and Tonks went upstairs, Lily took a seat beside Harry. “What did you think of all that?”

“You and Dad were great.”

Lily looked over Harry like she was checking for an injury or perhaps a lie. She seemed satisfied to find none. 

“This means no more using the Floo to and from Grimmauld Place….” Lily drummed her fingers on her knee as she spoke. “And it won’t always be Tonks or someone in the Order here…. We’ll have to do Remus’s potion elsewhere next month….” It seemed she found the list of things that had to change due to the Ministry’s new security measures too exhausting to consider at the moment. She shook her head and reached for the nearest distraction, which happened to be the book Tonks had left on the table.

“Oh —” But Harry wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to his mother before she opened up his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_.

“Studying Potions over the holidays? That’s not like you….” Lily took in the tight ink scrawled between the printed pages and frowned. “These aren’t your notes, are they, Harry?”

“Er — no.”

“Where’d you get this book?”

“Slughorn gave it to me.” Which was not a lie.

Lily flipped back to the Table of Contents, ran her finger down the list until she found what she was looking for, then flipped ahead. Harry recognised the page immediately — Essence of Dittany. He knew it, because he had compared the notes to his mother’s notes multiple times. The handwriting was different, but the words were almost identical.

“Hm. So it must be,” she said.

“Must be what?” Harry asked. His trepidations about what his mother might think about the book were overcome by his curiosity to know the identity of the Half-Blood Prince.

“I expect this was Severus’s copy, from when we were students.”

The hope Harry felt deflated suddenly and instantly. “Snape? This was Snape’s book?”

“ _Professor_ Snape.” But the correction was automatic, her voice distant and mind elsewhere. “I thought the handwriting was familiar enough, but this particular comment, where the instructions claim that dittany needs to be uncut, and you should put the whole plant in if possible, and written underneath, it says ‘The leaves are sufficient, and anything more is a waste of ingredients, you halfwitted Horklump,’ Severus said that to Slughorn’s face one day, believe it or not. I never forgot it. We both had a habit of writing in our Potions books. I haven’t seen these notes, though. Severus and I were no longer on speaking terms when we did our N.E.W.T.s.”

Harry remembered his mother refusing to accept Snape’s apology for insulting her after their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. Harry was still not quite ready to accept his mother’s pronouncement. “Couldn’t anyone have heard it in class and written it down, like you did?”

“I suppose. I can’t recall who was in that lesson with us. This certainly isn’t Sirius or your father’s work. It really does look like Severus’s handwriting.” She handed the book back to Harry. “I take it this is your secret to excelling in Potions this year?”

“It helps, yeah. Also helps not having Snape criticising every little thing, or having to read instructions off the board.” Harry tried to determine if his mother was upset that he was using someone else’s notes to succeed in Potions. She was unusually unreadable. “Hermione thinks it’s cheating,” he ventured.

“Are you writing your own essays?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t see which part of it is cheating. They’re the instructions you’d be getting if Severus was still the Potions professor, aren’t they?”

Harry was still unconvinced that the author of the notes was Snape. “There’s a note on the back that says ‘Property of the Half-Blood Prince.’”

Lily’s smile was sad. “Severus never was fond of his father.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“‘Prince.’ Severus’s mother was Eileen Prince. His father was a Muggle. I never actually met him, but I gathered that he was… unkind to his wife and son. Severus hated him terribly.”

Harry searched for some other excuse, some other evidence that this might not have been Snape’s book, but he found none. Snape was still teaching Harry Potions, and doing a much better job of it through a book.

“Did you know Snape really well?”

Lily stifled a yawn. “Yes. We were best friends. I told you that we grew up together?”

Harry nodded.

“Severus was the one who first told me about Hogwarts, and told me I was a witch. He was the first one to tell me that being Muggle-born didn’t matter.” Her gaze drifted past Harry to the dying fire. “He didn’t care much for your Aunt Petunia, though, and she didn’t care for him. Sometimes I wonder if she would have been less jealous if he hadn’t helped to push her away…. I don’t know. Tuney never did care for magic anyway. Did I tell you that your father and I shared a compartment on our way to Hogwarts?”

“No. You’ve never mentioned it. Just that you were in Gryffindor together.”

“He teased Severus and I. Sirius did, too. I _hated_ the two of them. They were rude, arrogant, and unafraid to show off. But Severus was in Slytherin, and I hated Severus’s friends, too. They used the worst curses and hexes…. And of course they didn’t care for Muggle-borns. I didn’t have many friends in school besides Sev. I suppose I was proud and arrogant, just in a different way than your father and Sirius. I certainly thought I was better than them because I studied harder, performed better in class — mostly. I never could best your father in Transfiguration and Herbology. But Potions… Severus and I excelled in Potions. It was the one place we could truly be friends and push each other. Slughorn doted on us both. And James and Sirius, to an extent, but they weren’t interested in his favour. I think they thought it rather cool to be disliked by their teachers. They certainly pushed McGonagall more than anyone else in our year. But then Severus fell in with the Death Eaters, and I was a prefect with Remus, and I had Muggle Studies with Sirius, and I got to know entirely different sides of them. It took me a bit longer to like your father at all.”

“Dad always said you courted his friends first.”

She laughed. “I suppose I had to. Your father always liked me. Sirius thought I was as stuck up as I thought he was.”

“You were both right about each other, though,” James said as he walked in. He sank onto the sofa beside Lily. “You and Sirius were both terribly full of yourselves. And I loved the two of you anyway.”

Lily kissed his cheek. “You went out with plenty of girls before you got around to me.”

“I went out with plenty of girls before you said yes. And, as terrible as I feel for those girls, I was never particularly shy about the fact that you were my first choice. I think knowing they had to work to turn my head was part of the challenge for them — at least, I know it was for Gwen.”

Lily’s face twisted into the same look of revulsion that Harry witnessed on Hermione’s face every time she caught sight of Lavender and Ron. “She was always all over you — and in the common room and everything.”

“She told me she liked kissing me in front of you. I think we were both trying to make you jealous. And then there was Opal, who dyed her hair red to get my attention.”

Lily rolled her eyes and stood. “If we’re going to sit here and discuss each of your ex-girlfriends, I’m going to bed. Happy Christmas, Harry.” She kissed his forehead, then leaned over to give James a kiss, but swept past him before their lips met.

“Oh — that’s not —”

Harry watched her try and fail to hide a smile as she disappeared through the door to their bedroom.

James sighed. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“Why did you go out with so many girls, if you always knew you liked Mum?”

James shrugged and ran a hand through his hair. “A lot of reasons — none of them good, I might add. I was popular, had a lot of options. As Quidditch captain it was sort of expected that I have a girl on my arm at all times, and if I didn’t, there were plenty of girls who wanted my time. A couple of them I had even convinced myself I could like, instead of your Mum. Told myself I was silly for chasing someone who’d never care about me — and Sirius agreed, though I think he’d have prefered I never bother in the first place. Girls cut into too many other activities for his taste.”

“Do you wish you hadn’t gone out with so many girls?”

“That’s hard to say.” James rubbed his hand over his jaw thoughtfully. “I hurt a lot of people, and hurt myself a fair bit too. But I also learned a lot about myself and about relationships. Then again, I also had to unlearn a lot of that stuff when I started seeing your Mum.” He shrugged. “The ones where I tried the hardest to make it work, well, they hurt the most, but I learned the most. Why? Are you thinking of asking Cho out again?”

“Oh — No. That’s over. Long over.”

“No one else got your fancy?”

Harry’s cheeks burned. “I — Yeah, I guess. She’s already seeing someone, though.”

“Ah. I remember when your Mum went out with Benjy Fenwick. I was… distraught. Remus and Sirius’ll tell you. She and I had finally had a real conversation, where we didn’t fight, and I felt like it had gone really well, and the next thing I knew, she’d taken my advice about making friends and gone out with someone who wasn’t me. I did not take it well. I hope you’re doing better than I did.”

“I guess so. I’m not crying into my pillow or anything.”

“Then you’re already doing better. Have you thought about what you want to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, do you wait for her to come around? Do you try to move on?”

Harry hadn’t really thought about it. Even if Ginny wasn’t dating Dean, and even if Ginny was still interested in him, could he date Ron’s sister? He didn’t think that Ron would like it, and he cared a lot about his friendship with Ron. He supposed the next best thing would be to try and move on, but Harry wasn’t entirely sure where to start. 

“I don’t know,” Harry said.

“That’s alright, too.” When Harry didn’t say anything else, James asked, “Are you going to tell me her name?”

“Er — no.”

“Come on, Snitch.” James grinned mischievously. “I know her, then, don’t I? It’s not Hermione, is it?”

“No — definitely not. It — it’s Ginny.”

James’ eyebrows shot up. “Didn’t she write you a poem a few years ago?”

“Yeah — but she was just eleven then, and I was only twelve. I didn’t think — I didn’t know…. And now we play Quidditch together and — and she’s funny and… I don’t know.” But Harry did know. She was fiercely kind, the sort of kindness his parents had always displayed. When he was with her, the burdens of a war and a prophecy didn’t seem as heavy. He loved making her laugh as much as she made him laugh.

“But she’s my best friend’s sister,” Harry added. “Isn’t that… I don’t know. I don’t have sisters.”

“I’ve never had sisters either, but Opal’s older brother was on my Quidditch team. I got a nasty hex to the back after one of our practices, because I’d gone on one date with Opal, then avoided her for a week. Sirius set him up with a trip to Madam Pomfrey in return, but… well, if you’re going to date your best friend’s sister, my advice is don’t break her heart.”

Harry wondered how he could. Ginny was so strong and resilient. Though she had been crying when she and Ron had been shouting at each other….

“Dad, did people talk about you for going out with so many girls?”

He shrugged. “I’m sure they did. Your mum certainly gave me a talking to about it once or twice. It didn’t help that I would ask her out while I was seeing someone else. Gave me a reputation I suppose. And people who already didn’t like me, or people who were envious, spread rumors, as it always goes. Are people talking about you?”

“I keep hearing comments about Ginny going out with different Quidditch players.”

“Do the comments bother you?”

“Only that I know what it’s like for people to assume things about you and spread rumors, and I think it’s unfair. But I think they bother Ginny, though she’d never say so.”

James smiled. “You know you’ve got a good head on those shoulders. I don’t know where you got it from.”

“Normally I’d say Remus, but he’s been a git lately.”

James laughed, sudden and abrupt. “At least I can claim your sense of humor. Yeah, Remus is going through something. He’ll come out alright, I think. He and Sirius were civil tonight, which is more than they’ve been in a while.”

“Mum wasn’t, though.”

“No, I think your mum’s run out of patience with just about everyone lately. We’ve all got a lot that we’re going through. But we’ve been through it once before; we’ll get through it again.”

James sounded confident, but Harry knew that didn’t mean much. He remembered the photograph Mad-Eye Moody had shown to him and Neville two summers ago. Benjy Fenwick had not survived. The McKinnons and the Bones had not survived. Peter Pettigrew had not survived. It was very possible that not everyone would get through it again.

James stood and stretched. “I’ll have to get up in the morning and Apparate down to Grimmauld Place, let them know the Floo Network here’s no good anymore, and get the word around to the Order. I’d also better make up with your mum before she falls asleep. Don’t stay up too late, alright, Harry?”

“I won’t, Dad.”

James kissed Harry’s forehead, where Lily had kissed it just minutes ago. Harry planned to go upstairs soon, but he opened up his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ and flipped through the pages idly. It was hard not to see Snape’s familiar scrawl now that Lily had pointed it out. He remembered the memory of Snape taking his O.W.L.s, and the tight handwriting he’d had as he pressed his nose to the paper. There was no doubt about it. This was Snape’s book.

Harry replayed the conversation he’d overheard between Snape and Draco. He had not had a chance to discuss it with Ron, Hermione, and Neville before the holidays, but he was glad he’d told his parents — and Remus, Sirius, and Regulus. He wanted to trust Snape. He had said as much to Snape at the end of term last summer. He did not want to make the mistakes that Remus and Sirius made. 

Snape had left Voldemort because he loved Lily. He had gone to Dumbledore to protect Lily, and Snape was still risking his life as a spy to protect them all.

Draco was certainly up to something, but Harry had to believe the others were right. He had to believe Snape was getting close to Draco for Dumbledore’s sake. Whatever Draco was up to, Snape was trying to find out and stop it.

Harry had to believe that.

He took his book upstairs and skipped the fourth step easily enough; he’d been doing it for years. But he was still reading Snape’s notes on brewing Amortentia — he gathered Snape had tried it successfully at least once — and did not see Tonks on the landing. They both went sprawling.

“Ah — for fuck’s sake,” Tonks grunted. “Sorry, Harry — I’m as clumsy as always.” She helped him to his feet. “Just on my way down for a glass of water; thought everyone was asleep. You alright?”

His knee throbbed from where it struck the edge of the stair, but he thought he could fix that himself easily enough. “I’m alright. You?”

“Nothing hurt but the usual.” She patted her rear then yawned. “Sorry again. Good night, Harry. Sleep well, sweet dreams, don’t let the boggarts bite, or something like that.”

“Er — Tonks —”

She hesitated halfway down the stairs and looked back up at him. “Yeah?”

Harry wanted to ask her if she was really alright, or if something had happened between her and Remus. He wanted to know why Remus had said Tonks would want to avoid him. He wanted to know if Tonks had tried going out with someone who wasn’t Remus, and what it was like to try to move on from someone you couldn’t have.

He wasn’t sure she’d want to answer any of those, here on the stairs, half-awake.

“Remember to skip the fourth step.”

“Right. Thanks, Harry. Good night!”

Harry slid into bed, exhausted from two long nights, but mind still whirring with questions. If Remus and Sirius were doing better, perhaps they would finally be together the way they ought to have been all those years ago. He wondered where that left Tonks. Harry knew what it was like to love someone who was so invested in someone else. He didn’t wish it on Tonks, but he also didn’t wish it on Sirius.

He was nearly asleep when Tonks came back upstairs, and stepped right in the centre of the fourth step.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

Snow fell that night. Most winters at Styncon Garden were rather mild, but this year seemed determined to be a harsh one on all counts. James said he would check on the west half of the property on his way out to Grimmauld Place, but he asked Harry to take care of the orchard on the eastern side.

Harry took the book he’d gotten for his birthday out to the orchard. He had some familiarity with the spells, after practising them that summer, but it was nice to have the book with him — not that it in any way made up for his father’s guidance and experience. Harry certainly hoped he’d have his father around to help him refine these spells for a long time to come.

When he got back, Cedric Diggory was sitting at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around a steaming mug.

“Should I ask you a question to make sure you’re you?” Harry asked as he pulled off his gloves and began to pour himself tea.

“I think we already know how to tell,” Cedric said with a small smile. 

Harry took a seat at the table. “What, by reciting a couplet half the people who’ve read Quidditch Through the Ages would know?”

“The fact that we both know it’s important to us is enough, isn’t it?”

“Well, then I guess you’re a shitty Auror.”

“You’re a shitty Chosen One.” Cedric laughed. 

Warmth filled Harry’s chest.

“What are you doing here?” Harry took another sip of his tea to convince himself it was the tea that was making him warm and nothing else. The steam fogged his glasses and his vision of Cedric became blurred. He didn’t bother to clear it.

“Williamson and I are Tonks’ security replacement. Your mum’s giving Williamson a tour of the house. I declined.”

“Sorry you have to be here.”

Cedric shrugged. “I’ll take a quiet twelve hours here. Though I imagine Scrimgeour is still hoping I’ll convince you to work with the Ministry. I heard his talk did not go well.”

Harry recounted last night’s events, perhaps embellishing his parents’ heroic speeches, but he thought he was true to the spirit of their words.

Cedric laughed, harder than Harry had seen him laugh before. Cedric was traditionally so reserved, but now he nearly fell out of his chair.

“I’m sorry —” he gasped. “I just — I’m imagining Scrimgeour’s face is all. I can see it perfectly, and your mum —” Cedric wiped a tear from his eye and managed to stop laughing, but he was still grinning. “Really wish he’d taken me instead of Tonks.”

“Did you at least have a nice Christmas at home?”

“It was quiet. Just the three of us. Mum and Dad finally seem used to the idea of me as an Auror. I did spring it on them last year. Mum didn’t like that I had to work today, though. She stubbornly refuses to accept that a war doesn’t pause for a holiday.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if Voldemort took off for Christmas and Easter?”

“Merlin, I’d pay for his holiday myself!” Cedric said, and they were both laughing again. It felt good to laugh, to be silly, even about Voldemort. Harry felt like he hadn’t laughed with friends in a long time.

Lily and Williamson’s voices drifted in through the dining room. Harry caught something about the garden, and the sound of the door opening and closing. He wondered if Williamson was getting the full tour because Lily wanted to keep him busy, or if she was just being polite. Judging by what James had said last night about her patience levels, Harry imagined it was the former.

“How did the first Quidditch match go?” Cedric asked.

“We won,” Harry said. He took another sip of his tea and allowed the steam to blur his vision once more. “Ron played a perfect game, and Ginny scored over a hundred points herself.”

Harry found that it didn’t hurt to think of Ginny, at least not the way it hurt at school. Here, in his family home, he wasn’t worried about what Ron might think. He wasn’t worried about Dean Thomas, and he wasn’t worried about his Quidditch team dynamics. He only thought about how nice it was to see Ginny laugh. He loved her sense of humour. He loved her temper. He loved the way she smelled….

“Do I smell jasmine?” Harry asked.

“The tea,” Cedric said. “My tea, anyway. I hope it’s alright. Your mum asked what I wanted, and I remembered the jasmine from our walk through your orchard this summer.”

“Oh — that’s alright.” The steam from Harry’s glasses had cleared and he had to force himself to look at Cedric. 

Cedric wasn’t built like a Seeker. He’d said as much himself, back when they’d been up in the Owlery together a couple of years ago. His shoulders were broad, and his arms were built more like a Keeper’s. This distinction of features was more noticeable beneath the tight jumper Cedric wore; his robes and cloak were draped over the back of the chair. His grey eyes were focused on the doorway into the dining room, perhaps listening for Williamson or Lily, or perhaps just avoiding Harry. In profile, his jawline was sharp, sturdy. Harry remembered that detail well from their days as Triwizarding Champions. Cedric had always seemed so much more put together than Harry had ever felt during their trials. He had remained calm and steady throughout the Triwizard Tournament, and in the year that had followed, he had never lost his temper with Umbridge. He’d gone to rescue Snape without hesitating. Cedric was every bit as brave and unwavering as Ginny, wasn’t he?

Though his voice seemed out of reach and his tongue felt like lead, Harry forced himself to say something. The silence had gone on too long. Cedric knew he was staring. “Ced —”

Cedric turned and looked at Harry. His grey eyes were soft and weary. It seemed everyone was weary these days.

“I —” Harry fumbled for words. “Would you want to go out? We could go somewhere in London — I bet if we were near the Ministry, you could get away with saying it was for work, just to be seen with me.”

A blush spread from Cedric’s cheeks and down his neck. He turned his eyes back to the door and covered his mouth with his hand. He didn’t look like he was trying not to laugh, but Harry felt embarrassed anyway.

“I didn’t mean — I mean — Never mind,” Harry said. “It’s nothing.” He took a sip of his tea, bigger than he’d meant to, and coughed.

“It’s not that.” Now Cedric rubbed his eyes. “It’s — well, you know, if you’d asked me this summer… I might’ve said yes.”

“You — what?”

“I thought you were into Ginny Weasley.”

Harry’s face burned. He pressed his mug to his face, unable to tell which was warmer. He wondered how Cedric knew he liked Ginny; had he always been that obvious?

“I mean — she’s seeing Dean Thomas. It’s been six months for them now, so what’s the point?”

“Ah. So I’m your second choice?”

“No — I mean — it doesn’t matter, anyway, does it?”

Cedric shrugged. “I’m sort of seeing someone now, but honestly, I meant it. If you’d asked this summer, before he and I — well, who knows.”

The pang of disappointment hurt, but it wasn’t as great as the monster of jealousy Harry felt over Ginny Weasley. It reminded him of when he’d asked Cho Chang to the Yule Ball, and she’d said she was going with Cedric. Maybe the passion he felt for Ginny was stronger than his attraction to Cho or Cedric, but he knew from watching his family that passion wasn’t everything. Remus and Sirius had passion, but hadn’t done anything with it for years. His parents worked hard at their relationship, and couldn’t he work just as hard at something? Was it fair to be turned down twice simply because he was too late? If he couldn’t have Ginny Weasley, couldn’t he at least have this? 

“Is it another Auror?” Harry asked, in an attempt at being casual, though he wasn’t sure he remembered how to carry on a casual conversation.

“He’s a Hit Wizard.”

“And he’s in the Order?”

“Oh… no. I think he’s a bit too loyal to the Ministry. Or at least he’s not ready to question it.”

This made Harry bristle. He felt defensive of Cedric in an entirely different way, a way that wasn’t rooted in jealousy. Loyalty to the Ministry meant many things to Harry, and none of them were good.

“You don’t think that’s a problem?” he asked, with perhaps more venom than he ought to.

“It hasn’t been so far.”

“Aren’t you worried about what might happen, though?”

“All the time.” The blush had receded from Cedric’s face and his eyes were locked onto his tea, as if he could read the future in his mug. Perhaps he could; Harry didn’t even know if Cedric had taken Divination. They had never discussed it. 

“I don’t think I ever really told you but I spent our entire year with Umbridge doing absolutely nothing,” Cedric said. Harry had to lean closer to hear him over the crackling of the fire. “I couldn’t bring myself to go to lessons or even Quidditch practice. I didn’t want to talk to my friends — everything felt like a waste of time. Voldemort was back, and there was nothing I could do to help fight him, so why do anything at all? Even now, I’m an Auror, but there’s so much to learn. If I spend all of my time worrying about what I can’t do, I’ll never reach a point where I learn what I can do. I’ve always admired your ability to fight back, Harry. Even when things seem hard, when things seem impossible — from the graveyard to the Ministry, you’ve stood up to Voldemort every time.” Cedric covered his face with his hands, and Harry had to strain to make words out of his quiet, muffled voice.

“I am so afraid of dying, Harry. I don’t… I remember taking the Killing Curse — I saw the light, and it hit me and I knew — I thought that was the end of everything and I was so terrified. I even froze in the Department of Mysteries when it happened again and if it wasn’t for you — if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. What you do — I —” Cedric rubbed his eyes and dropped his hands to his mug. He tried to look at Harry, but the eye contact didn’t last long. He returned his gaze to his cup. “I don’t think I could do what you do. I can’t fight like you can. But you make me want to try. And Christian… he makes me feel that way too, like there’s a future worth fighting for. It’s not perfect and it isn’t easy, but it’s better than it used to be.”

Harry remembered what his parents had oft-repeated. It was important to love someone who made you better. Cedric had found that, it seemed. Harry wished it was easier to be happy for Cedric, but he was starting to wonder if there was anyone out there for him at all. It seemed he’d have to be quicker if he wanted his chance at happiness. Perhaps it was his fault for stalling, for not being honest with his feelings sooner, for going the way of Ron and Hermione and Remus and Sirius instead of being like his father, who had asked Lily out at every moment, even when he thought she hated him, even when he was seeing someone else.

“You’ll find someone, Harry,” said Cedric. “Or, if Christian and I don’t work out, we can give it a shot,” he smiled. 

It was easier to smile back than Harry expected. He wondered what might happen if he asked Ginny out the moment they returned to Hogwarts. The only scenario that played out in any way he liked, where she threw herself at him, kissed him, and asked why he’d waited so long, was so unlike Ginny that even Harry couldn’t buy into it. It was more likely she’d get angry or uncomfortable, and then he would still have to deal with Ron but not have Ginny.

If Harry couldn’t move on to someone else, he would just have to wait patiently. He remembered how critical his father had been of love potions, but he wondered if perhaps Felix Felicis would be an acceptable solution. If it was a potion that guaranteed a perfect day, why not use it to ask Ginny out? He supposed he would just have to wait until he got back to Hogwarts to find out.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

Dear Cedric,

I had my first lesson with Dumbledore again immediately after returning to Hogwarts. It was… well, I don’t know if it was more helpful to fighting Voldemort, but it explained a lot of things I wasn’t sure about before.

Dumbledore told me what Voldemort was like while he was at school, how he charmed his teachers, and put together a group of friends that would eventually become Death Eaters. And then Dumbledore showed me a memory that belonged to Morfin Gaunt — Voldemort’s uncle.

Voldemort went to the Gaunt’s house when he was sixteen, looking for his family. He found Morfin Gaunt there, and after they talked in Parseltongue, he realised that his father was a Muggle who lived across the valley. Gaunt tried to attack Voldemort, but the memory went dark. It seems obvious what happened, knowing Voldemort was there at the house that night. You mentioned that it was odd that Gaunt waited so many years to take his revenge on Tom Riddle, and how worried he was about the ring. That’s because he didn’t actually kill them. Voldemort must have taken Gaunt's wand and murdered the Riddles, then he changed Gaunt’s memory so that Gaunt confessed. Gaunt was so upset about the ring being gone because Voldemort stole it. 

Dumbledore still didn’t tell me how he ended up with the ring, though. He was in a hurry to make sure he showed me the last memory.

It was one of Professor Slughorn’s memories and it was strange — I’ve been through quite a lot of memories, but I’d never seen anything like this. It got all fuzzy at parts, and it was impossible to tell what was happening. All I was able to get out of it was that Voldemort asked Slughorn about something called Horcruxes. I’m not entirely sure that I’ve spelled it correctly. In the memory, Slughorn said it was something terrible, and that Voldemort shouldn’t bring it up again, but I don’t think that’s really what he said. Dumbledore wouldn’t say any more about what Horcruxes are, only that I absolutely had to get that memory out of Slughorn, the true and proper memory, that hadn’t been tampered with.

I haven’t got any idea how I’m supposed to do that. If it’s something he wouldn’t give even to Dumbledore, how can I do it?

— Harry

P.S. How’s…. what was his name? Christian? Hope you’re well.

—————————— ✶✶✶ ——————————

Dear Harry,

Things are as well as they can be.

I’m far more interested in your lessons with Dumbledore than anything else right now. I scoured the books I have access to as an Auror for any mention of a Horcrux and came up empty. Some of the darkest spells are detailed in these books, and of course their counters, but all I could find of a “Horcrux” is that it’s incredibly dark and dangerous. And then I had a thought, a thought I am not particularly proud of, but it paid off.

I thought if I wanted to learn more about Dark magic, where better to search than the Black family library? I mean no judgement on Sirius nor Regulus, but the books I found in there were overflowing with Dark spellwork. It was much more than I had expected, and I sifted through a lot of horrifying spells and rituals before I found any mention of Horcruxes, but once I found them, it turned out to be a treasure trove.

A Horcrux, by definition, is an object you can store a piece of your soul in, so that if your body perishes, a piece of your soul remains tethered to the world, and can be used to revive you. I had the unfortunate experience of reading a horrific and detailed description of how to create a Horcrux, and I don’t dare put it down to paper again. Something new for my nightmares to chew on, I suppose.

It took me several attempts to get through it all, but I imagine if anyone could do something this awful, it would be Voldemort. I’ll tell you that at the very least, it involves murdering someone in order to damage the soul so that it can be split. That ritual Voldemort performed after the Triwizard Tournament — I haven’t seen any mention of it here — but surely it’s connected to restoring to life someone whose life force exists within a Horcrux.

This means, though, that we cannot defeat Voldemort unless we know where his soul is stored. Whatever it takes, Harry, you must get that memory from Professor Slughorn. It could tell us exactly what we need to end Voldemort and end this war.

I don’t know Professor Slughorn, so I don’t know how to help you, but talk to your friends. You said you’ve confided in Ron, Hermione, and Neville? They may be able to help you more than I can. If Dumbledore believes you can do this, then it must be possible. Good luck. 

— Cedric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always accepted.


	18. Birthday Surprises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron's finally seventeen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops; I accidentally posted chapter nineteen. I apologize for any confusion. I caught the error fairly quickly, but if you see two update emails or any notification that I updated twice, it's a lie. I just goofed.
> 
> Anyway, I'm very excited for Percy Jackson series on Disney+. Percy Jackson's like the American version of Harry Potter, except we got terrible movies and an excellent play instead of excellent movies and a terrible play.
> 
> Hope you are safe and well. Please feel free to connect with me on twitter and tumblr. My social media is my window to the world these days.

Ron did not particularly enjoy hearing about Harry’s lessons with Dumbledore. He knew that they were useful, and he thought they were interesting, he just didn’t like them very much. It made him uncomfortable to think of You-Know-Who as a student at Hogwarts, or an orphan in some dark, gloomy institution. It was like being told a Hidebehind had a nice rock collection.

This latest lesson had a bit more intrigue to it. You-Know-Who murdering his father and framing his uncle fit in better with Ron’s expectations of You-Know-Who. The Slughorn memory was especially interesting.

“Never heard of it — what was it? A Horcrux?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to have,” Harry said. He washed his eggs down with a glass of orange juice. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to get a memory like that out of Slughorn.”

Ron snorted. “He loves you. Won’t refuse you anything, will he? Not his little Potions Prince. Just hang back after class this afternoon and ask him.”

Harry frowned, and looked about to say something else, but Ron’s vision went dark just then, and he did his best not to grimace as a familiar and grating voice said, “Won-Won! Guess who?”

He wasn’t sure when exactly Lavender’s voice had become obnoxious to him. He’d enjoyed the time he spent with her, but somehow, over Christmas, his affection had waned. Or maybe it had been waning for a while and the nail in the coffin had been her Christmas gift.

When Ron “guessed who” correctly, he was rewarded with a very nice kiss. He did at least like her kisses. When she pulled away, she pouted, “You’re not wearing the necklace!” 

Ron struggled to recall what necklace she was talking about. It was hard to remember much of anything after Lavender kissed him. That part, at least, hadn’t faded. “Er — didn’t want to lose it,” he said. He turned to look at Harry, but Harry was already gone. Ron didn’t exactly blame Harry for disappearing each time Lavender appeared, but he was starting to feel a little guilty about it.

After a dismal Defense class — Ron still struggled to cast nonverbally, and it didn’t help that Hermione seemed to be the only one with any mastery — Ron said goodbye to Lavender so that he could go to Potions. It was a very lengthy goodbye kiss, and Ron hurried to Slughorn’s classroom. He had only just set his bag on the table when the bell rang. Sharing a table with Harry and Hermione wasn’t exactly pleasant these days, but today, Hermione moved her cauldron to sit with Ernie instead of Harry.

He knew why Hermione was irritated with him — he didn’t think he deserved it, but he at least knew — but he didn’t know what was wrong between Harry and Hermione.

“Blimey, Harry, what’ve _you_ done?” Ron asked as he got out his copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_. It was secondhand, like Harry’s, but it did not have any writing in it. At least it didn’t look like it had been puked in, like the one Slughorn had loaned him in their first term.

Harry didn’t answer Ron, either because he didn’t want to, or because Slughorn started the lesson.

“Settle down, settle down, please!” Slughorn called. “Quickly, now, lots of work to get through this afternoon! Golpalott’s Third Law — who can tell me — But Miss Granger can, of course!”

Hermione, as she did so often and easily, recited the answer verbatim from the book. “Golpalott’s Third Law states that the antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components.”

“Precisely!” said Slughron. “Ten points for Gryffindor! Now, if we accept Golpalott’s Third Law as true…”

Ron lost track of Slughorn’s meaning. He wasn’t sure he’d had it at all to begin with. Theory was never Ron’s strong suit. Quick reflexes, strong hexes and charms — that was where he excelled. Transfiguration and Potions were headaches to him, and always had been. They relied too much on interaction rather than reaction. 

“... and so,” Slughorn said, “I want each of you to come and take one of these phials from my desk. You are to create an antidote for the poison within it before the end of the lesson. Good luck, and don’t forget your protective gloves!”

Ron looked up from the picture of a bubbling cauldron that he’d been doodling in the corner of his textbook — maybe someday some poor Potions student could get excited about his notations, only to find them utterly useless — and saw everyone was getting a phial from Slughorn’s desk. He hurried forward and picked out something viscous and bright green.

“It’s a shame that the Prince won’t be able to help you much with this, Harry,” Hermione said with a confident smile. “You have to understand the principles involved this time. No shortcuts or cheats!”

Ron dumped his phial into the cauldron and frowned at Harry. “You didn’t tell her —?”

“What, so she could tell Snape? No way.”

Ron lit a fire under his cauldron, because that was what Hermione had done, then looked to Harry for the next step, but Harry did not seem to know what else to do, either.

“You sure Snape didn’t leave us any tips?”

Harry flipped through the textbook and opened to the chapter on antidotes. While the page was crammed with notes, none of them were especially helpful. Ron recognised a curse that Harry had tried on Crabbe last week, which stuck his robes to the floor and caused him to trip. Ron had thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle.

Harry turned the page and Ron saw a series of words crossed out, like Snape had been inventing a spell and had trouble with it.

“Sempra?” Ron asked. “Like the Tickling Charm?”

Harry shrugged. “Haven’t tried it yet. Thought about using it on McLaggen, though.”

Ron suddenly tasted bile and returned to his cauldron, leaving Harry to work out Snape’s notes. He tried _Specialis Revelio_ because that’s what Ernie Macmillan was doing, but it didn’t make much of a difference. Hermione was doing something right, separating the ingredients in her cauldron into different crystal decanters. Ron thought he had to try something, so he threw in a handful of slugs. The reaction was unpleasant.

Harry didn’t seem to be faring any better. His cauldron was smoking and smelled of rotten eggs. Then Harry hurried suddenly to the supply closet. Ron didn’t dare follow. He tried the Revealing Charm again.

“Times… Up!” Slughorn shouted. “Well, let’s see how you’ve done! Blaise, what have you got for me?”

Slughorn made his way around the classroom, pausing briefly to inspect each cauldron. He nodded approvingly at Hermione’s work, though she was not quite finished. He did not linger over Ron’s at all, throwing his arm over his face to hide the stench. Ron did not blame him, and wished that he could back away, too.

“And you, Harry,” Slughorn said, a note of apprehension in his voice. The star Potions student bearing a cauldron that smelled of rotten eggs seemed an unfortunate portent. “What have you got to show me?”

Harry held out his hand to reveal what looked like a palm-sized pebble.

Slughorn stared at it, and Ron wondered for a moment if Harry really had gone mad. Then Slughorn burst into laughter.

“You’ve got nerve, boy!” he laughed, and held the rock up for the class to see. “Oh, you’re like your mother. I can’t fault you — A bezoar would certainly act as an antidote to all these potions!”

The smugness on Hermione’s soot-marked face faded into fury.

“And you thought of a bezoar all by yourself, did you, Harry?” she hissed at him.

“Snape taught me,” Harry answered with a shrug.

Ron would have enjoyed the comeback more if he’d been in on the joke. Instead, it was just Harry who got the praise as Slughorn continued.

“That’s the individual spirit a real potion-maker needs! Just like his mother — she had the same intuitive grasp of potion-making. It’s undoubtedly from Lily he gets it. Yes, Harry, yes, if you’ve got a bezoar to hand, of course that would do the trick, although they don’t work on everything, and are pretty rare, it’s still worth knowing how to mix antidotes….”

The bell rang before Ron could express his distaste for Harry taking all of the glory and not sharing the Prince’s trick with him. 

“Time to pack up!” said Slughorn. “And an extra ten points to Gryffindor for sheer cheek!”

Harry was slow to pack up his bag. Ron did not care to stay and see how it all worked out for Harry. 

And when Harry told him over dinner that evening that it had failed, and Slughorn had refused to tell Harry anything, Ron wasn’t all that upset about it. In fact, he really couldn’t complain when, while Harry remained Slughorn’s favourite student, Slughorn’s fear of being left alone with Harry had appeared to result in the Slug Club being disbanded. Harry had no more invitations to late night suppers to turn down, and Hermione had no more parties to invite McLaggen to. Between that and some excellent Quidditch practices, Ron thought that things were looking up, and just in time for his seventeenth birthday.

Before that, though, were Apparition lessons. For the Saturday lessons, Apparition protections had been lifted from the Great Hall. Unfortunately, Lavender had also signed up for the lessons. Though Ron thought he would have much preferred to go down to the Great Hall with Harry, instead, he walked arm-in-arm with Lavender, and stood beside her as the very frail and almost translucent Ministry Apparition instructor walked them through his three D’s of Apparition: Destination, Determination, Deliberation.

Ron, honestly, was not sure that he had any of those three things, but he stood beside the hoop as everyone else did and stared at it — his destination. He thought at least he was determined to succeed so that Fred and George could not mock him, for they had passed their Apparition exam on their first try. And finally, on Twycross the instructor’s direction, he deliberated with a slow and careful turn, but nothing happened.

Nothing happened for anyone, actually. it was not until their fourth attempt that someone actually Apparated. Susan Bones stood in her hoop, wobbling, and Ron saw her left leg several feet behind her.

Ron’s stomach turned, but the sight didn’t last long. Sprout, Flitwick, Snape, and McGonagall were on her in a moment and had her set right, but she was unsteady, and, between sobs, asked to be excused.

“Splinching,” Wilkie Twycross said, “or the separation of random body parts, occurs when the mind is insufficiently determined. You must concentrate continuously upon your destination, and move, without haste, but with deliberation… thus.” Twycross, as if to make everyone else feel terrible about their lack of success, turned from his spot, and reappeared at the other end of the Great Hall.

Nothing more exciting, however, happened than Susan’s Splinching. Ron had until next Saturday to think about Destination, Determination, and Deliberation. When the lesson ended, he hurried to catch up with Harry, pretending not to hear Lavender calling after him.

“How did you do?” he asked Harry. “I think I felt something the last time I tried — a kind of tingling in my feet.”

“I expect your trainers are too small, Won-Won,” Hermione’s voice came from behind them. 

She moved past with a smug smile, which Ron thought entirely unwarranted, as even she hadn’t been able to so much as Splinch herself.

“I didn’t feel anything,” Harry said. “But I don’t care about that now —”

Ron frowned. “What do you mean, you don’t care? Don’t you want to learn to Apparate?”

“I’m not fussed, really, I prefer flying.” Harry glanced over his shoulder, but Ron wasn’t sure what for. “Look, hurry up, will you, there’s something I want to do.”

Ron followed as Harry ducked into the secret corridor they normally used to head up to Gryffindor Tower after late Quidditch practices. However, Harry did not continue on to Gryffindor Tower, however. He dug into his bag and pulled out a worn piece of parchment. He unfolded it, pointed his wand at it, and said, “ _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good _.”__

__“What’s going on, Harry?”_ _

__“Malfoy’s using Crabbe and Goyle as lookouts.” Harry spread the map of the castle out on the floor. “He was arguing with Crabbe just now. I want to know what he’s up to. Help me find Malfoy.”_ _

__Ron bent his head over the map and searched alongside Harry. They had not gone far from the Great Hall. Surely Malfoy could not be far, either._ _

__“He’s just there, Harry,” Ron pointed. “Looks like he’s heading down to the Slytherin common room with Parkinson, Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle.”_ _

__Harry sighed. “I’ve been trying to follow him for weeks on this map — I swear he’s leaving the castle, but I can’t work out how.”_ _

__“Wait — Harry — is that — that one right there, next to Malfoy. Does that say what I think it says?”_ _

__Harry turned the map and squinted at the dot that seemed to be circling the cluster of Slytherin seventh years. “Yeah, that says Regulus Black.”_ _

__

__“What’s Black doing in the Slytherin Common Room?”_ _

__Harry frowned. “He did make a comment about Malfoy having detention during our Hogsmeade trip. I wondered how he knew, but I didn’t get to ask…. But if he was spying on Malfoy like Snape, why didn’t he say so?”_ _

__“You should tell Dumbledore.”_ _

__“Why? So Dumbledore can tell me that it doesn’t matter?” Harry ran his hand through his hair and his green eyes seemed alight with the determination that Twycross had tried to impart to them. “Do you think if the two of us became Animagi, we could slip down there and see what Malfoy was up to?”_ _

__“Blimey — Harry — are you mad?”_ _

__“ _Mischief managed_ ,” Harry sighed and the ink sprawled across the parchment seemed to curl into itself and vanish. “We’d be mad to try it without Hermione, anyway. Maybe that’s what I should’ve asked my dad to teach me last summer.”_ _

__Ron shook his head. He didn’t trust Malfoy anymore than Harry did, but he thought that Harry was becoming a bit obsessive._ _

__It only got worse as the month wore on. Harry started disappearing between lessons, and instead of reading _Advanced Potion-Making_ each night before bed, Harry was scouring the map for Draco Malfoy. But if Harry found any answers on the map, he didn’t communicate them to Ron._ _

__Before long, Ron’s birthday arrived. It was dreary for the first of March, but the weather hadn’t been pleasant since their Quidditch match against Slytherin. To make matters worse, the Hogsmeade trip that day had been canceled._ _

__“It’s not a big surprise, though, is it?” Harry asked. He was digging through his trunk as Ron opened up his gift from Charlie. “Not after what happened to Katie?”_ _

__While Ron was sympathetic to Katie’s plight, and did not wish anyone else to spend six months in St. Mungo’s, he also did not wish for his birthday to be ruined. “But now all I’ve got to look forward to is stupid Apparition! Big birthday treat…. Oh! Charlie got me a real dragon fang necklace!”_ _

__“Just don’t let Lavender catch you wearing that instead of ‘My Sweetheart.’” Harry said, and tossed a package from his trunk at Ron. “Happy birthday.”_ _

__The package landed neatly in the pile of other gifts that had been brought by house-elves that night. Harry settled back into bed with the Marauder’s Map, presumably to continue the search for Malfoy and Regulus Black._ _

__Ron opened the gift from Harry, pleasantly surprised to find a brand new pair of Keeper’s gloves. “Nice one, Harry!”_ _

__“No problem,” Harry said. “Hey… I don’t think he’s in his bed….”_ _

__Ron had very little interest in whether or not Malfoy was in his bed, and opened his gift from his parents. He stared in shock at a gold pocket watch. Ron was no expert in gold, but it felt heavy enough to be solid, not plated. He opened the watch and inside, tiny gold stars moved around the edge to tell the time, instead of watch hands._ _

__From Bill and Fleur there was a bottle of French Cognac, which Ron tucked into his bedside table to enjoy with his friends later. Ginny had smuggled in a box of Weasley Wizard Wheezes Magical Moustache Miracle Stubble Grow, which was both funny and insulting. From Neville, he received a new jar of broom handle polish. There was nothing from his brother Percy, which Ron found unsurprising, and, honestly, if there had been something, he might’ve chucked it._ _

__There were, however, two gifts that Ron did miss, and it surprised him how much it hurt that they weren’t there. There was nothing from Hermione and nothing from Fred and George. He dug through the wrappings one more time, just to be sure. He didn’t find anything on his bed, but he did see a wrapped box that must have fallen to the floor. It was heart-shaped, and wrapped in a pink bow, and Ron realised he also had not gotten a gift from Lavender._ _

__Reluctantly, Ron picked up the box and opened it. He breathed out a sigh of relief when it was only Chocolate Cauldrons. Far more sensible than the necklace she’d given him for Christmas._ _

__Ron ate one eagerly, and held the box out to Harry. “Want one?”_ _

__Harry hardly looked up from the map. “No thanks. Malfoy’s gone again!”_ _

__“Can’t have done,” Ron said, and took another Chocolate Cauldron and thought he really ought to find a way to keep Harry from obsessing over Malfoy. “Come on, if you don’t hurry up, you’ll have to Apparate on an empty stomach.” Ron slid out of bed and felt oddly light as his feet touched the ground. He frowned, noticed that the label said they were filled with Firewhiskey, then reached for another._ _

__He pulled on his t-shirt in a bit of a haze. Perhaps it was the Firewhiskey in the Chocolate Cauldrons, or perhaps they hadn’t been from Lavender at all. Maybe they were a gag gift from…._ _

__Ron had hardly finished the thought when it was replaced by a single, all-consuming thought. His hand was halfway to his jumper, but he stopped, and leaned against the window, staring out at the pouring rain. It was beautiful._ _

__“Ron?” Harry’s voice cut through his daydream. “Breakfast?”_ _

__“I’m not hungry,” Ron sighed._ _

__“I thought you just said —?”_ _

__Ron sighed again, dramatic and moody, and grabbed his jumper. “Well, alright, I’ll come down with you, but I don’t want to eat.”_ _

__“You’ve just eaten half a box of Chocolate Cauldrons haven’t you?”_ _

__“It’s not that…. You… you wouldn’t understand.”_ _

__Harry frowned, but said, “Fair enough.” He started to open their dormitory door, but Ron suddenly felt as if he were going to burst if his feelings were not understood._ _

__“Harry!”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“I can’t stand it!”_ _

__“You can’t stand what?”_ _

__“I can’t stop thinking about her!”_ _

__Harry’s frown was briefly washed in disgust, but he hid it quickly. “Why does that stop you from having breakfast?”_ _

__Ron pressed his hand against his chest, afraid his heart was going to burst out if he did not act on his feelings immediately. “I don’t think she knows I exist.”_ _

__Harry rolled his eyes. “She definitely knows you exist. She keeps snogging you, doesn’t she?”_ _

__Ron was unable to think of anyone except the object of his affections, and could not recall having ever snogged her, nor even spoken to her. “Who are you talking about?”_ _

__“Who are _you_ talking about?” Harry asked, as though it were not plainly obvious, when Ron was certain that it was._ _

__“Romilda Vane,” Ron said in a breathless whisper. Just saying her name made his heart race faster. “I think… Harry, I think I love her.”_ _

__Harry stepped closer and examined Ron’s expression. “This is a joke, right? You’re joking.”_ _

__“No, I love her,” Ron insisted. “Have you seen her hair, it’s all black and shiny and silky… and her eyes? Her big dark eyes? And her —”_ _

__Harry frowned and stepped back. “This is really funny and everything, but joke’s over, alright? Drop it.”_ _

__Ron, who had been so determined to make his feelings known, could not handle his best friend doubting him. He balled his hand into a fist and struck Harry on the ear._ _

__Harry, for having never taken one of Ron’s punches before, recovered spectacularly. Ron had hardly pulled back for another strike when Harry’s wand was out and he had Ron hoisted into the air by his ankle. Ron yelped and struggled to free himself, though it was impossible without his own wand._ _

__“What was that for?” Harry shouted._ _

__Ron still floundered. “You insulted her, Harry! You said it was a joke!”_ _

__“This is insane! What’s got into —” Harry’s gaze finally slid past Ron and onto Ron’s bed. “Where did you get those Chocolate Cauldrons?”_ _

__“They were a birthday present! I offered you one, didn’t I?”_ _

__“You just picked them up off the floor, didn’t you?”_ _

__“They’d fallen off my bed, alright? Let me go!”_ _

__“They didn’t fall off your bed, you prat, don’t you understand? They were mine, I chucked them out of my trunk when I was looking for your present. They’re the Chocolate Cauldrons Romilda gave me before Christmas, and they’re all spiked with love potion!”_ _

__Ron did not hear every word of Harry’s half-shouted tirade. In fact, there was only one word in there that he cared about at all._ _

__“Romilda? Did you say Romilda? Harry — do you know her? Can you introduce me?”_ _

__He was beginning to feel very lightheaded, and he thought that if Harry would just let him down and take him to see Romlida, he would feel much better._ _

__“Yeah, I’ll introduce you,” Harry said. “I’m going to let you down now, okay?”_ _

__The spell ended as suddenly as it had come, and Ron crashed onto the dormitory floor. He hardly felt it, though, and pulled himself to his feet. He smoothed the wrinkles out of his clothes and looked expectantly at Harry._ _

__“She’ll be in Slughorn’s office,” said Harry._ _

__Ron hurried down the stairs after Harry. “Why will she be in there?”_ _

__“Oh, she has extra Potions lessons with him.”_ _

__“Maybe I could ask her if I can have them with her?”_ _

__“Great idea.”_ _

__The common room was largely empty, and though Ron knew that she wouldn’t be there, he looked to see if perhaps Romilda were sitting by the fire, but of course she was down at Slughorn’s office, as Harry had said._ _

__Lavender was waiting for them at the portrait exit. She grabbed Ron’s arm as he passed. “You’re late, Won-Won!” she said. “I’ve got you a birthday —”_ _

__Ron tore his arm away from her and pushed open the Fat Lady’s portrait. “Leave me alone. Harry’s going to introduce me to Romilda Vane.”_ _

__He walked downstairs to Slughorn’s office so eagerly and confidently that now it was Harry who hurried to keep up._ _

__“Er, let me do the talking,” Harry said. “Got to present you right and all.”_ _

__Harry knocked on the door and, after a moment that seemed to last an eternity, it opened, but it was not Romilda Vane. Slughorn wore a velvet dressing gown and nightcap, and squinted through bleary eyes at Harry._ _

__“Harry… this is very early for a call… I generally sleep late on a Saturday…”_ _

__“Professor, I am really sorry to disturb you….”_ _

__But Ron did not have any interest in what Harry and Slughorn were whispering. He was not much taller than Harry, and he stood on his tiptoes, trying to look over Harry and Slughorn to get a glimpse of Romilda. He could not see her in Slughorn’s office._ _

__“I’ve never mixed an antidote for a love potion, sir —” said Harry._ _

__Ron had lost his patience, and tried to elbow past Harry and Slughorn._ _

__“— and by the time I get it right, Ron might’ve done something serious —”_ _

__“I can’t see her,” Ron moaned. “I can’t see her, Harry — is he hiding her?”_ _

__Slughorn’s mustache twitched as he pursed his lips and took a closer look at Ron. “Was this potion within date? They can strengthen, you know, the longer they’re kept.”_ _

__Ron struggled to get past Harry, but Harry held him back. Ron didn’t understand. Hadn’t Harry promised to introduce him to Romlida? Why was Harry keeping him from her?_ _

__“That would explain a lot,” Harry said. “Please — it’s his seventeenth birthday, Professor.”_ _

__“Oh, alright, come in, then, come in.” Slughorn stepped aside for them and Ron hurried into the room. “I’ve got the necessary here in my bag. It’s not a difficult antidote….”_ _

__Ron stumbled over a footstool and crashed to the floor. He did not feel the pain of crashing into the floor a second time, so much as the embarrassment of falling flat on his face. He also was beginning to feel extremely warm, but perhaps that was just Slughorn’s office._ _

__“She didn’t see that, did she?” he asked Harry anxiously, and picked himself back up._ _

__“She’s not here yet,” Harry said._ _

__“That’s good.” Ron tried to smooth his hair. “How do I look?”_ _

__“Very handsome,” said Slughorn. He handed a glass of something thin and clear to Ron. “Now drink that up, it’s a tonic for the nerves, keep you calm when she arrives, you know.”_ _

__“Brilliant!” Ron said, and gulped down the drink._ _

__It did help his nerves, as Slughorn had promised. He felt better and then, suddenly, he felt worse. He went from feeling light and airy to as heavy as a sack of stones in a single breath. It was not unlike being punched in the stomach, or having a slug-puking curse rebound. He also recalled, with sheer terror, just how rude he had been to Lavender in the common room. He was not interested in dealing with that fallout on his birthday._ _

__“Back to normal, then?” said Harry. Harry, at least, was grinning, an expression Ron couldn’t quite comprehend at the moment. The stark contrast between the euphoria of the love potion and the weight in his stomach made him wonder if he’d ever feel happy again._ _

__“Thanks a lot, Professor.”_ _

__“Don’t mention it, m’boy, don’t mention it.”_ _

__Ron sank into one of Slughorn’s plush armchairs with a groan._ _

__“Pick-me-up,” Slughorn said. “That’s what he needs.” He turned from his potion kit to a small table full of drink bottles. Ron recalled the bottle of French Cognac that was upstairs and wondered if he might ask Harry to Summon it for him, because he did not feel much like any magic at all._ _

__“I’ve got butterbeer,” Slughorn mused, “I’ve got wine, I’ve got one last bottle of this oak-matured mead… hmm… meant to give that to Dumbledore for Christmas… ah, well, he can’t miss what he’s never had! Why don’t we open it now and celebrate Mr. Weasley’s birthday? Nothing like a fine spirit to chase away the pangs of disappointed love….”_ _

__Slughorn poured three glasses of the mead, and lifted his in a toast, but Ron was entirely uninterested in a toast. He threw back the glass and swallowed it in one gulp._ _

__It had hardly hit his throat when the glass fell from Ron’s hand. He vaguely heard it crash into the chair but he was far more concerned with his inability to breathe. He struggled for air, but his body seemed intent on ignoring his wishes. Something that was both shaped like a rock and tasted like a rock was shoved into his mouth. Ron managed one more shuddering gasp and nothing more._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and headcanons always appreciated.


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